


Wildfire

by idoltina



Series: Nightminds [1]
Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/F, F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-01
Updated: 2015-03-01
Packaged: 2018-03-15 21:03:13
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 46,203
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3461915
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/idoltina/pseuds/idoltina
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>Regina does not run from monsters.</i> (Alternatively -- Mulan crosses realms for love, Rumplestiltskin is trapped in Storybrooke, Regina has the Dark One's dagger, and a phoenix rises from the ashes.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Missing Year, 2012

**Author's Note:**

> **Warnings:** adult language, attempted assault, attempted murder, blood, burns, character death, coercion, dub-con, murder, references to previous potential alcoholism, references to previous canonical character death, self-injury, sexual situations, temporary inability to control magical abilities, use of bondage and restraints in non-consensual contexts
> 
> **Author’s Notes:** Originally derived from [this sp0iler](http://insidetv.ew.com/2014/09/26/spoiler-room-agents-shield-greys-anatomy-spoilers/) and a need to see Regina’s journey/encounters with the sleeping curse come full circle, this piece does not take canon events beyond 04.10 **except for selected parts** of 04.11, and any information about 4B into account beyond this original article.

**Enchanted Forest -- Missing Year ( March 2012 - March 2013)**

* * * * *

Alone in the courtyard next to a solitary, encircled tree, Mulan chips away at bark with her knife.

Gone.

Phillip and Aurora are gone. The people she holds most affection for in every realm are gone, turned to winged beasts at the hand of a witch _most_ wicked.

Mulan’s love is _gone_ , and the ache in her chest burns and coils and forces tears into her eyes, tears that she refuses to let fall.

Angrily, she digs the knife into the trunk of the tree and chisels away, carving away nonsensical shapes and letters.

“That’s my tree you’re hacking away at.”

Startled, Mulan ceases her desecration of the tree and glances over in the direction of the voice. She’s a little surprised to see the Evil Queen -- especially alone -- but Mulan does her best to keep what composure she has left. “Your Majesty,” she acknowledges by way of greeting, surveying the queen carefully.

Mulan still isn’t entirely sure what to make of her, after half a lifetime in another realm. Snow seems to trust her implicitly, from what Mulan can tell, and Robin -- well, Mulan knows Robin well enough to know when his interest is caught. He regards the queen much differently than most still do, but he’s given Mulan no explanation as to why.

Not that Mulan has asked. She hasn’t been able to spare much thought or care for anything else beyond the ache that weighs down her chest since her return and discovery.

Fingers flexing around the handle of her knife, Mulan reluctantly removes it from the tree and clears her throat. “I did not realize anyone had a claim on a mere tree.”

The queen arches an eyebrow, gaze drifting above Mulan’s head. “Clearly you didn’t notice the apples.” Mulan follows her gaze to the fruit dangling from various branches. “And it’s Regina.”

It’s Mulan’s turn to arch an eyebrow, now, as she turns her gaze back on the queen. “Robin informed me that you were particular about titles and address,” she says.

The queen looks almost… annoyed at the mention of him, but the corner of her mouth twitches into an almost smile. “With him, yes,” she concedes.

The admission is as puzzling as nearly everything else about the queen since her curse had been reversed, but Mulan chooses not to dwell on it. “What do you want, Your Majesty?” she sighs.

Something shifts in the queen’s expression, then, careful and thoughtful and so, so guarded. The queen’s voice is quiet when she says, “I didn’t realize they were your friends.”

And still, Mulan cannot find it in her to focus on the fleeting curiosity that burns and catches within her. She swallows around her pain, instead, and averts her gaze back to her handiwork against the tree. “And what is that to you?” Mulan asks. “Robin said all of your attention is focused on the destruction of your sister.”

The queen is quiet for a long moment, but Mulan does not dare turn to look at her again. “It’s among my higher priorities at the moment,” the queen finally allows, “but she is not family to me the way I suspect your friends were to you.”

Curiosity and pain and it all _burns_ in Mulan’s throat, scorching and trapped. She finds herself unable to speak, the tears stinging at her eyes even worse than before, and she has to squeeze her eyes shut just to keep her composure. She doesn’t realize that she’s been holding her breath until she’s startled into releasing it at the sound of a _snap_ nearby, and Mulan looks up to find the queen standing next to her with an apple in her hand. There’s clear hesitation in the queen’s movements, then, but after a moment of what Mulan supposes is deliberation, the queen sinks down next to her on the stone and turns the apple in her hands. “Before them,” she says carefully, “before your friends, I didn’t even consider that Zelena’s minions could be anything than the beasts they are now.”

Mulan takes a very measured breath in an effort to steady herself. “Is this supposed to make me feel better?”

The queen’s hands still around the apple, briefly, and she doesn’t quite meet Mulan’s eyes when she inclines her head slightly in Mulan’s direction. “They’re not gone,” the queen says evenly. “There’s a difference between gone and transformed, and believe me -- your friends are not gone.”

Mulan’s heart beats painfully in her chest, and hope burns its way up her throat. “You think they can be changed back.”

The queen turns her attention back to the apple in her hands. “I think it’s a possibility.”

The whole situation feels strikingly familiar, now, as Mulan remembers the quest to retrieve Phillip’s soul. It had been Cora who had set them on that path, Cora who had imparted the knowledge they needed, Cora who hadn’t lied. Cora, a heartless queen who had borne the woman currently seated at Mulan’s side now. They’d had no reason to trust Cora, back then, but the risk they’d taken had been worth it, in the end. Mulan is still wary of the queen at her side, now, and yet…

And yet.

Mulan remembers the end of the path she and Aurora had taken together, remembers the conditions Aurora had agreed to in order to barter for Phillip’s soul from the wraith. She remembers the dagger in Aurora’s hand, remembers the exception that Aurora was sure she would never have to make. True love was all it had taken, back then, bound by blood on Aurora’s hands and devotion that would not waver.

 _I cannot imagine ever loving another_ , Aurora had promised, and somewhere in her, Mulan’s ache understands.

“How?” Mulan finally asks.

“I’m not… entirely certain,” the queen says, sounding reluctant to admit it. She pauses for a brief moment, using her magic to suspend the apple in air without aid. And still, it turns and turns and turns just as it did in her hands, and the queen’s gaze becomes weighted. “I haven’t had much opportunity to study the creatures up close. I’ve destroyed them and transformed them, myself, but --”

“But?” Mulan prompts.

“Zelena’s magic is…” Another pause, this one much more deliberate, as if the queen is searching for the right word.

“Powerful?” Mulan suggests. “Unparalleled?”

Annoyance flickers into the queen’s expression. “Peculiar,” she finally settles on. “It’s difficult to analyze her use of magic without interacting with her again, and my _charming_ family doesn’t think it’s particularly… wise to take that kind of risk at the present time.”

Mulan could almost smile at that. “You don’t strike me as the type to take orders.”

The queen’s lips twist into a bemused smile. “I’m not,” she says dryly. A beat, and she reaches for the apple and sets it in her lap. “But,” she adds, exhaling slowly, “it _is_ why I’m here.” Her fingers twitch, a clear sign of hesitation, but then she’s reaching into the folds of her sleeve and unearthing a folded slip of paper before holding it out in offering.

Curiosity getting the better of her, Mulan takes it from her and unfolds it, eyes scanning the tidy scrawling of ink across the page. “What is this?”

“It’s a list,” the queen says.

Mulan can’t help but level a glare at her. “I’ve gathered that much for myself,” she remarks dryly.

The queen barks out the barest of laughs, amusement plain on her face, and the sound is so unexpected that Mulan can’t help but _stare_. “There are names,” the queen elaborates, shifting uncomfortably under the weight of Mulan’s gaze. “People who might have more information for you, places you can find them, the right questions to ask.”

Another journey, then, another quest, another mission to retrieve lost lives. Mulan studies the list for a few moments, brow furrowed in concentration over the myriad of mostly unfamiliar names and designations. There are a few that are least familiar in passing -- Camelot and Arendelle among them -- but most of the contents are foreign to her. She’s had her fair share of experiences with magic, to be sure, but the magnitude of what the queen has given her is really beyond her. “I… appreciate the information,” Mulan says carefully, “but magic isn’t exactly my forte.” She looks back up at the queen. “I could use some assistance.”

The light flickers and dims and fades from the queen’s face, at that, and she shifts uncomfortably on the stone beneath them. “My place is here,” she says, and she sounds genuinely sorry about her refusal. A breath, and then, “More than one person has vouched for your abilities,” she tries. “Apparently, you’re very adept at taking care of yourself.”

Mulan rolls her eyes and looks away, but she can’t help the smile that twists onto her face. It’s nice to have her skills acknowledged and praised -- and she’s fairly certain she knows who had sung those praises -- but Mulan is long past the need for it. She’s used to being a solitary soldier -- the lone woman in an entire army, a woman alone on a quest to destroy a creature terrorizing an entire village. She’s the lone woman in a band of merry men, now, and though Mulan appreciates their kind company, the effort it takes to socialize has often been more of a burden than anything else. That, too, is not exactly new, if her awkward attempts as an adolescent are anything to go by. She’s _used_ to being alone, and there are often times when she prefers it. She prefers the constant activity of war or quest, prefers noise and voices and populace. In the quiet, there is nothing to keep her occupied.

In the quiet, there is nothing but ache.

Mulan would gladly carry it with her always if she could give her friends their lives back.

Swallowing thickly, Mulan folds the paper up small again, fingers running along the creased edges. “Do you, um -- do you think their child could survive this?”

A final pause, the longest one yet, and when Mulan meets the queen’s eyes, she sees her own ache reflected back at her. “I don’t know,” the queen answers honestly, and for all of her careful composure, something in her voice very nearly breaks.

And in that moment, Mulan knows -- this queen is nothing like her mother.

Resolved, Mulan nods in acknowledgement and pushes herself to her feet. “I, um -- I suppose I should let Robin know that I’m leaving again.”

“Don’t,” the queen says, quick and firm. Mulan blinks in surprise but doesn’t press for an explanation, knows it will come. “He’ll only try to stop you,” the queen reasons. “If you want to help your friends, you’ll have to leave undetected.”

Mulan shifts uncomfortably on her feet, unable to ignore the hot twist of guilt in her gut. The queen isn’t wrong, but Mulan can’t leave without a word, can’t just _abandon_ them like this. “I’ll leave a letter,” she amends, figuring the compromise is as good as any. She hesitates and surveys the queen a moment longer, debating. “Will you make sure he gets it, after I’m gone?”

The queen inclines her head ever so slightly in agreement, the picture of a twisted sort of sophisticated grace, and Mulan is not sure she will ever understand her. Mulan returns the gesture in kind, and with the folded paper tight in hand, she moves past the queen toward the edge of the courtyard. “Mulan,” the queen calls after her, prompting her to pause and turn back around. There’s something almost… thoughtful in the queen’s expression when she extends her arm with the apple in hand. “For your journey.”

Mulan tries very hard not to laugh, and she’s sure it must show. “I’m not sure how much I can accomplish while asleep, Your Majesty.”

The queen rolls her eyes and tosses the apple in Mulan’s direction for her to catch. “Putting you to sleep has about as much use as leaving you here to inflict damage on my tree,” she quips. And for all that the queen keeps her voice light when she says it, Mulan understands her meaning plainly.

Ache is useless without action.

The apple is weight in her hand but it’s like hope in her heart, and Mulan cannot help but regard it as a curious thing. She turns the apple once in hand and offers the queen a polite smile. “Regina,” she says, evoking the barest of smiles on the queen’s lips, “thank you.”

* * * * *

For Regina, the Enchanted Forest no longer feels like home.

She’s not sure it ever has, honestly. It’s where she was born and where she was raised, where she spent more than three decades of her life and where she ruled a kingdom. But this place has never been home, for her. Home had died along with her hope when she was eighteen, and every moment spent in this godforsaken place since then has felt like running. There are very few places she’s ever felt comfortable enough to stop and try to catch her breath, to try and remember _how_ to breathe.

The stables probably aren’t exactly the best place to try and do that, but it’s the only place Regina feels even remotely like herself, now.

In the quiet, every breath she takes _aches_ , and her heart beats traitorously against her ribcage.

It’s approaching dusk, now, which means most of those who have taken refuge in and around the castle will be preparing for dinner. Regina is sure of her solitude in the stables for at least a while longer, though she’s also fairly certain that Snow will send someone to summon her for supper, eventually. For now, Regina is content to remain here with the horses, her voice soft and her fingers gentle.

“You sent for me, _Your Majesty_?”

Regina closes her eyes and works her jaw a little to try and regain her composure. She’d almost forgotten about this -- about the message she’s supposed to pass along, the confrontation they’re bound to have because of it. She knows it’s necessary; she’d insisted that Mulan leave without tipping Robin off, but Regina’s starting to wonder if dealing with the fallout herself was the smartest choice. She inhales sharply and forces herself to look over at Robin, now, careful to keep her expression as impassive as possible. “Yes, I suppose I did.”

Robin arches an eyebrow at her, looking far too pleased with himself. “How might I be of service?”

Regina rolls her eyes and moves away from one of the horses before reaching inside of her cloak for the slip of parchment Mulan had pressed into her hand yesterday. “I was asked to pass this along,” she explains quickly, holding it out in offering.

Confusion mars Robin’s brow briefly before his features relax again, and she’s grateful that he doesn’t take too long to reach for the letter. “By whom?” he inquires, already unfolding it.

“I’m sure you’ll find out if you read it,” she says wryly, already moving past him as his eyes start to scan the page.

She’s almost at the entrance to the stables when he calls out after her. “Regina, wait.” Reluctantly, she stops and turns to face him again, hovering at the entrance. His eyes linger on the page in his hand a moment longer before he lifts his gaze to her, concern etched into the lines of his face. “She’s gone?” he asks, and Regina knows she doesn’t have to answer. “She’s already left? She’s --” He stops, there, swallows to steel himself. “You _encouraged her_ ,” he says, sounding a little incredulous. “You sent her out on, what, some wild goose chase with the witch and her minions still out there? Have you gone _mad_?”

Regina flexes her fingers to keep her anger at bay and takes a few lengthy strides back into the stables. “ _First of all_ ,” she clips, every word deliberate and biting, “it’s not some wild goose chase. The information I gave her is sound. Second, I wasn’t stupid enough to send her out there without some sort of protection. And _lastly_ ,” she says, taking another step toward him (always toward him, always drawn to him, she cannot fathom _why_ ), “some of those _minions_ are Mulan’s friends.”

“Believe me, I’m well aware of that,” he says thinly, his own fingers flexing around the edges of the page he’s holding.

“Well then,” she drawls, hands settling on her hips as she tries to draw herself up to her full height, “tell me you have enough common sense not to go after her.”

Robin bites his lip, the only sign of restraint he gives before he meets her barb with his own. “Ah, yes,” he sighs, “how could I forget? You’re not particularly fond of me tagging along.”

“Well you weren’t exactly particularly useful, now, were you?” she throws back, hoping he doesn’t press the issue further. They’re getting dangerously close to talking about their initial voyage into the castle, and Regina will never forgive herself for being so unguarded around him.

It’s Robin’s turn to roll his eyes, now, and she can hear his exasperated little sigh as she turns away from him and moves toward the exit again. She only makes it halfway this time, though, when he speaks again. “ _I am not sure I will ever understand the queen the way you seem to_ ,” he says, and it takes her a moment to realize that he’s reading excerpts of Mulan’s letter aloud. She halts again, annoyed that she’d been that transparent to the girl, that it’s apparently easy to see how much Robin gets under her skin. Still, Regina doesn’t turn to face him again, won’t give him the satisfaction. “ _I think you may be right, though_ ,” he continues. “ _I think there may still be good in her yet._ ”

And it’s Henry she thinks of, her little prince with his hand on her arm and _you’re not a villain -- you’re my mom_. Regina closes her eyes and shakes her head, exhaling sharply. She will not turn around. “Is there a point to this little exhibition?” she asks, noting how the edge is gone from her voice.

“ _She insisted on staying behind,_ ” Robin continues, ignoring her. “ _She said her place was here._ ”

“Of course it is,” she snaps, her emotions getting the better of her as she whirls around to face him again. “In case you’ve had lapse in memory in the last couple of minutes, there’s a wicked witch out there with the Dark One at her disposal. I’m pretty sure I’m the only one around here capable of doing anything about that.”

His breathing is even, steady and _infuriating_ , and magic pulses in Regina’s veins. Slowly, Robin folds the page in his hand up small again and tucks it away into a pocket on his person. And this time, it’s him who doesn’t meet Regina’s eyes when he speaks. “You’re angry,” he says, with all of the patience in the world.

“Astute observation,” she says, dry and sarcastic and there are holes in her armor; she is not prepared for any version of this conversation.

“You’re angry,” he says again, quiet and even and understanding. He pauses, then, looks up at her and studies her for a moment before taking a few steps closer. “You are angry and you are hurting, and I would never begrudge you that, Regina.” All of the breath leaves her at once, and she knows him well enough -- knows that he knows her well enough -- to know what he’s left unspoken.

_You are allowed to grieve._

The trouble is that she’d never been granted that allowance, with Daniel, not really, and Regina has long since learned to associate grief with rage. Her anger is all she had -- it is all she _ever_ has. Its gift to her has always been resilience. Without it, she is weak.

And yet.

Robin takes another step toward her, and Regina stumbles backward. “You saved my son.” A moment’s hesitation, another step forward, another step back. “You intended to remove the shield for everyone before taking that curse.” Another step, two more, and Regina’s breath hitches in surprise as her back collides with the frame of the stable doors. Robin keeps close to a foot of space between them, giving her an out should she choose to take it.

She cannot remember how to breathe, and she chooses not to run.

Robin leans in a little closer, close enough that she can feel his breath ghosting against her skin, close enough to see the earnest spark in those damned blue eyes, close enough that he doesn’t have to do more than whisper. “You are so very angry,” he says, voice sounding a little rough, “but I think your capacity for love is much greater.” His fingers brush against hers, just barely, but it’s enough to send sparks up her arm and cause her to release an involuntary gasp and glance down at the point of contact. His touch is familiar and it doesn’t make sense, not when he hasn’t touched her before, not like this. She glances up and finds Robin’s lips mere inches from hers, his gaze heavy and lidded. “ _Regina_ ,” he murmurs, and her eyes are half-closed before she can even spare a thought for what’s about to happen.

Robin is going to kiss her.

He knows her too well.

They are in the stables.

Daniel.

Regina pulls away with a sharp inhale and straightens up, pulling her hand away. “It’s _Your Majesty_ ,” she says without heat, still fighting to regain her composure. “And I believe we’re done here.” Robin’s answering exhale sounds _tired_ , but he takes a step back to give her room to breathe. She’s grateful for the reprieve, feels her armor clicking back into place as she steps out and away from him. “It’s nearly dark,” she says, a too-obvious observation. “Dinner will be served soon. You should return to your camp.”

Robin leans against the frame and folds his arms over his chest, studying her carefully. “Because you do not desire my company?” he guesses, his tone making it clear that he’s very much aware of the effect he has on her.

“Because one of us has to think of your son,” she says, and it comes out much colder than she’d originally intended. She feels a pang in her chest at that, thinks of that sweet boy and how much he reminds her of Henry, remembers why she’s kept her distance. And she cannot bear to be around Robin a moment longer, not without her armor fully in place, not with her heart beating painfully against her chest.

She turns to leave again, has lost count of how many times she’s tried, how many times Robin has drawn her back and she _hates him_ for it. She hates him for how well he knows her, hates him for constantly putting himself in her path, hates that she doesn’t have it in her to send him and his men away because it’s too dangerous for them in the woods.

Mostly, she hates the way she doesn’t hate him -- not even close, not even a little bit.

Not even at all.

His voice startles her into inaction, and the ache in Regina’s chest feels useless. “This is about the baby,” he says, so softly that she almost doesn’t hear it. “That’s why you’re staying,” he says, voicing the realization out loud. “Your place is here with Snow White -- between your witch of a sister and that baby.”

Regina cannot breathe, and this time, she chooses to run.

She can feel Robin’s eyes on her all the way up to the castle.

She doesn’t look back.

* * * * *


	2. May 7, 2013

**Storybrooke -- Spring 2013**

* * * * *

This is not Mulan’s first time in Arendelle, but she’s determined that it will be her last.

Or rather, the angry mob of men chasing her at the king’s orders is determined to either run her out of the kingdom or kill her -- probably whichever is easiest.

Which is why she’s running.

Her heart is _pounding_ as she makes her way through the forest, her chest tight and her lungs burning, but she is _dead_ if she stops, and she cannot, will not stop now. She knows where she’s headed, knows these woods better than even the band of brothers does (and seriously, what kind of people put themselves through the torture of having _thirteen sons_?). She knows that they are as unwelcome here by the people of Arendelle as she is by them, has heard the whispers of the merchants and townspeople, had seen the portraits of a queen and a princess most fair. The very idea of another revolt has been heavy in the air, but Mulan would really rather not take her chances. The king and his brothers have control, for now, the royal coffer and guard and army at their disposal.

She has enough sense to take a roundabout way to the cave she’d stumbled upon during her last visit, enough sense to know that the longer she has these idiots chasing her, the less likely it is that they’ll continue their pursuit into the thickets around the cave.

And it _works_ \-- the yelling and hollering fades the closer she gets to the cave, and soon Mulan can hear nothing but the sound of her own labored breathing. Around a bend, past the large stone, through the thicket with thorns and into the clearing where the cave resides and --

 _There_ it is.

Mulan cannot help but smile in relief at the sight of the ornate, colorful door tucked away inside of the cave, but she knows it’s not wise to linger. She can’t be certain that she’s thrown her pursuers off of her trail, and regardless of whether or not the door works for her, she knows it could be dangerous in the hands of the king. She cannot take the chance that he won’t be able to recognize the door for what it is, as she had on her first visit.

Quickly, Mulan glances around the clearing and checks behind her one last time before hastening inside of the cave. She comes to a stop just in front of the door and takes a moment to catch her breath.

She does not know where this door will lead.

The queen’s words echo in her mind -- _putting you to sleep has about as much use as leaving you here to inflict damage on my tree_ \-- and Mulan is reminded of the promise she’d made herself before leaving the Enchanted Forest.

Ache is useless without action, and Mulan would carry it across realms to reclaim lost lives.

With a tight grip on the doorknob, Mulan closes her eyes and thinks of her love.

A twist, a turn, a pull, and Mulan opens her eyes to magic.

She lets out a delighted gasp of near-disbelief, stunned that the door has opened up to what she’s suspected has been here all along -- a portal. She takes one last glance over her shoulder just to make sure she hasn’t been followed and isn’t being watched before she takes a breath and turns to face the portal again.

She’s startled into stumbling away from the door at the appearance of a face in the doorway -- a face and hands and a whole body walking through it, and Mulan is already reaching for her sword when the stranger emerges into Arendelle. It’s a woman -- tall and blonde and fair -- dressed in a gown of glimmering blue, and there’s something faintly familiar about her that Mulan can’t quite pinpoint at the moment. She can tell that the woman is equally startled by Mulan’s presence, and the woman casts a suspicious eye at Mulan’s sword and raises her hands in defense. “I’d lower your sword, if I were you,” the woman says. “I don’t know what falsehoods Hans conveyed to you, but I’m --”

“Elsa,” Mulan supplies suddenly, memories of the portraits in the castle hallways coming back to her. “You’re the queen.”

“I am,” Elsa confirms, sounding a little surprised. She lowers her hands a fraction of an inch, surveying Mulan curiously. Mulan relaxes her grip around her sword in kind, but she refrains from sheathing it again when another person -- a man, this time -- emerges from the portal, bumping into Elsa. Elsa spares him a quick glance before turning her attention back to Mulan. “This is Kristoff,” she explains. “He’s a friend -- my sister’s fiance.”

“Your sister,” Mulan echoes. “Princess Anna.”

“ _Yes_ ,” Elsa breathes, sounding relieved as she lowers her hands the rest of the way. “She’ll be along in a moment, but -- please, tell me what you can of what Hans has done to my kingdom.”

“Hans?” Mulan asks, momentarily confused. “What, that idiot with the sideburns who has taken to calling himself King?”

“That’d be him,” Kristoff affirms, sounding annoyed at the mention of him.

Mulan takes a moment to survey Elsa -- this queen who reminds her distinctly of Regina in ways Mulan is not sure she can articulate -- and realizes that the people of Arendelle are probably right to wish her back. There is nothing but concern and anxiety etched into the lines of Elsa’s face, and Mulan gets the feeling that this isn’t about the throne for Elsa as it is for Hans. “The people seem fine,” Mulan reassures her, feeling vindicated when Elsa’s features relax a little. Mulan puts her sword away. “Most of them would prefer to see you reinstated, I believe. But Hans -- he has control of the coffer and the army. I’ve spent the better part of the last few hours trying to evade his brothers.”

Kristoff’s lips twist into a smile. “Boy, what did you do to piss them off so much?”

Mulan levels a glare at him. “Does it matter?” she snaps, but even as he shakes his head, Kristoff’s smile just grows bigger.

“Thank you,” Elsa cuts in, clearly sensing the potential tension. “The three of us could probably manage on our own, but it’s nice to know we’ll probably have the people on our side.”

“Speaking of,” Kristoff says, glancing over his shoulder at the still-shimmering portal, “what is taking Anna so long?”

And here, Mulan realizes, is the information she’s been waiting for. “Where is she?” Mulan asks. “Where does this portal lead?”

“It’s… a very strange land,” Elsa explains. “It’s a town called Storybrooke.”

“Storybrooke,” Mulan echoes faintly, breath catching in her chest. “ _Emma_.”

“You know Emma?” Elsa asks, sounding both surprised and delighted all at once.

“Yes, but that’s not -- is she alone?” Mulan inquires, eyes trained on the portal.

“Not at all,” Kristoff supplies helpfully. “There’s a whole kingdom’s worth of people there -- people who used to be queens and princes and princesses and --”

“Do you know where they’re from?” Mulan asks thickly, hope burning in her lungs.

“A -- a kingdom that neighbors Arendelle,” Elsa says, and Mulan can feel the queen’s gaze on her but she will not look away. “It’s a land called Misthaven, but they call it --”

“-- the Enchanted Forest,” Mulan breathes.

With any luck, her love could be at the other end of that portal.

For the first time in what feels like a very long time, Mulan feels the edges of her ache begin to fade.

She reaches out for Elsa’s arm without thinking, her grip probably too-tight and her eyes still focused on the portal in front of them. “Thank you,” she says, sparing them both one last glance. “Good luck.”

Mulan lets go of Elsa’s arm and steps through the doorway.

She stumbles into someone upon emerging from the other side, and it takes her a moment to right herself and recognize the other woman from the paintings. “Anna,” she says knowingly, keeping a hand on Anna’s arm to prevent her from falling over. “Your sister and your fiance are waiting for you.”

“I’m going, I’m going,” she babbles, dusting herself off and gesturing wildly behind her. “I just had to explain something about an evil wizard to these people and -- wait, do we know each other? Does Elsa know you? Did _Hans_ send you, because I swear to god, I know how to handle a sword and if he thinks he can send some lackeys to get rid of us so he can keep the throne --”

“Anna, Anna, it’s fine -- I swear,” a voice interrupts, and Mulan has never been so glad to hear the voice of Emma Swan in her _life_. “This is Mulan -- she’s a friend of ours.”

“Oh,” Anna says, looking only marginally embarrassed. “Okay, well that’s -- I mean, honestly, you can’t blame me for being suspicious, not when Elsa and Kristoff just went through the portal and Hans is still wreaking havoc over there.”

“Anna,” Mulan laughs, squeezing gently at her arm before letting go, “it’s fine. Go knock that idiot bastard off of your sister’s throne. And shave his sideburns for good measure,” she adds as an afterthought.

Anna grins at that and bounces a little in place, fingers flexing in what is clearly preparation for an _actual_ knock-out, gods, who _is_ this woman? She pauses just long enough to reach for Emma’s hand, and her tone is much more serious when she imparts her own well wishes on the people in the rest of the room. “Good luck.”

Anna steps through the portal, and the door clicks shut behind her.

Snow’s arms are around Mulan before she even has a chance to breathe. “ _Mulan_ ,” she greets, squeezing a little too tightly. “We didn’t think we’d ever see you again.”

“And I you,” Mulan says, laughing again because she _can_ , now, because hope is her strength where ache is her burden to bear. She pulls away enough to get a good look at Snow, notices Prince Charming hovering behind her and a boy who is not yet a man. “The palace was _ravaged_ when I returned,” she explains. “I knew well enough that another curse must have taken you somewhere -- was it Zelena?”

“Uh, no, not exactly,” Snow says, sounding unsure as she glances at the rest of them. “It’s -- Zelena’s not a problem any more. Actually, we’ve been dealing with -- you know what?” she sighs, reaching for Mulan’s hand and putting on a smile. “There’s a lot you’ve missed out on. It’s a long story. Why don’t you come back with us into town and we’ll explain everything?”

“Uh, I hate to put a damper on this whole happy reunion thing here,” Emma interjects, “but we’ve got a bigger problem here, remember? Gold?”

“Right,” Snow sighs.

“We should call Regina,” Charming -- David, his name is David, Mulan remembers -- suggests.

Mulan glances back at Snow. “Regina’s here?”

Snow nods, curiosity creeping into her expression. “We’re _all_ here.”

* * * * *

The Spell of Shattered Sight lifts, and Regina starts to see herself more clearly than ever before.

And here, now, tucked against Robin’s side on the park bench with page twenty-three in their hands, Regina is reminded of who she could have been. She’s never going to be that person -- the girl who had barely touched darkness, the one who was still willing to take chances on hope -- but she thinks she’s okay with that. God-like Author or not, Regina knows that her choices have played a role in the way her life has turned out. As much as she hates to admit it, Snow had been right -- Regina is not all dark or light.

She thinks she could learn to love herself this way.

It’s a start, at least.

Robin’s lips brush against her ear, and it takes everything in her not to turn into it out of respect for Marian. Regina tightens her grip on Robin’s thigh, instead, her eyes fluttering shut. “ _Robin_ ,” she admonishes, knowing her voice lacks any real conviction, and she feels him grin against her ear. “Marian is right there.”

“And my heart is here,” he murmurs, reiterating his choice.

Flustered and trying to regain her composure, Regina opens her eyes and turns to look at him, deliberately directing her gaze into Robin’s eyes instead of at his lips. “You are tactless,” she chastises, again without heat.

“And we are adults in a complicated, messy situation,” he says, not for the first time. “I know we still have a lot of things to work out, Regina, but at some point, she’s going to have to get used to the sight of us together.”

Marian’s words echo in Regina’s mind, then -- _I see the way you two look at one another_. Looks are harmless; kisses are not.

Then again, they’ve done so much more than just kiss, haven’t they?

“That doesn’t mean we should rub salt in the wound right now,” Regina argues. “She wanted to be chosen.”

“She wants to make her own choices,” Robin argues back. “She always has. And right now, Marian is choosing to live the life that you and Emma helped get back for her.”

And Regina remembers, then, the woman who had seen through her carefully and strategically arranged armor. She remembers the woman who had been brave enough to sacrifice herself in favor of doing the right thing, remembers the woman who had called her a monster and then reconsidered. She remembers the woman who sat next to her at the breakfast bar this morning, calm and grateful and observant. And Regina sees the woman in front of her now, the one who lives and breathes for the love of a child who had never known her.

In Marian, Regina sees pieces of herself, and while nothing can mitigate the fact that Regina was nearly responsible for her death, the fact that she’s saved it twice now brings Regina back into balance.

She is both light and dark.

“I guess one kiss can’t hurt,” Regina allows, biting back a smile.

Robin huffs out a laugh and leans in a little closer. “Thank god,” he murmurs. “I was beginning to think I’d have to go back to stealing kisses in empty hallways.”

It’s Regina’s turn to laugh, now, and she’s just about to let her eyes slip shut in preparation for the kiss when her phone chimes in her pocket. Robin groans and rests a forehead against her shoulder as she unearths her phone and mumbles an apology. Regina’s chest tightens as she reads the text from Emma.

_S.O.S._

“Let me guess,” Robin sighs. “Massive flooding because the ice wall is gone?”

Regina shakes her head and tries to steady her hands in order to send Emma a reply. “No, it’s, um -- it’s Emma. Something’s wrong.”

Robin lifts his head and takes page twenty-three from her before folding it up small again. “Henry?” he inquires softly.

Emma’s subsequent message answers that question and quells Regina’s anxiety -- _Not Henry._ Regina shakes her head in reply. “No, I -- I think Henry’s okay. It’s something else. She didn’t say.” A breath to steady herself and she forces a tired smile in Robin’s direction. “Rain check?” she asks hopefully, nodding at the page in his hand. “Hold onto that for me?”

Robin returns her tired smile with his own, but he nods in affirmation and reaches out a hand to tuck some of her hair behind her ear. “I suppose it’s up to you to save the day again?” he teases.

Regina’s lips twist into a smile. “I didn’t really do much of anything this time around,” she points out. “Although I suppose Henry would argue that I have to do my part for the team -- some sort of Avengers thing.” Confusion at the reference is obvious on Robin’s face, but Regina doesn’t give him time to ask the question she knows he wants to pose. “I’ll have Henry educate you,” she sighs, patting his leg before she rises to her feet and pockets her phone. “You know how to reach me if something should happen to Marian? Not that I’m expecting it to -- Emma said Ingrid’s magic didn’t linger at the town line, so Marian should be fine, but --”

“Yeah, I know, I know,” Robin assures her, moving to stand with her. “I have the phone you gave me. Whether I’m capable of getting it to work again remains to be discovered.”

Regina’s grin spreads across her face, but she very tactfully does not laugh. “I’ll see you in the morning?” she suggests. “You still owe me breakfast over a campfire.”

Robin’s grin matches her own. “Yes, I suppose I do.” She nearly reaches for him at that, forces herself to look away in an effort to gather herself before she leaves him with his family for the night. She’s startled when he pulls him to her, instead, his hands fisting tight at the edges of the pockets of her coat, and she hardly has time to lift her gaze before his lips are on hers.

Regina cannot breathe, and Author or not, she will never run again.

Because this -- this is home.

* * * * *

The doors to the elevator click shut, and Regina watches as Emma reaches out with shaking hands to try and magically activate the elevator. It’s unnecessary -- Mary Margaret is just outside, able to hand-operate the elevator for them, if need be, and Regina’s magic is much more reliable than Emma’s has ever been. But it’s Emma who makes the attempt first, Emma whose hands spark and fail to spur the elevator into movement. And Regina can see it in the lines of Emma’s face, in the weighted wetness of Emma’s eyes.

Emma is afraid.

And somewhere in her, Regina remembers -- her arms around Daniel’s body and his heart falling to ash on the ground -- and _understands_.

“Emma,” she says gently, reaching out to brush her fingers against the back of Emma’s hand. Emma starts a little but looks over at her, and there is nothing but desperation in her eyes, now. “Let me.” Emma flexes her fingers but doesn’t make any further attempts. Regina waves her hand with ease, and the elevator starts to ascend to the clock tower.

Behind them, Belle takes a deep breath, and with a quick glance back, Regina sees Belle’s hand tighten around the handle of the real dagger.

The doors open and Regina is ready where Emma is not, magic burning under her skin -- magic that Rumplestiltskin ignited and taught her how to use, magic that he’s trying to extinguish now. But it won’t work, not with Belle hidden behind them, not with her hands finally on the real dagger again. And Gold can’t see her but there is panic in his eyes, confusion and frustration at not being able to keep them at bay, at the heart in his hands that he cannot seem to crush.

“I can’t do it,” he gasps, a little hysterical. “ _Why can’t I do it_?”

It’s then that Emma and Regina step aside to let Belle into the clock tower with them, and Regina doesn’t think she has ever heard Belle’s voice go so cold before. “Because I commanded you not to.” Belle passes by them and climbs the stairs, grip firm on the dagger’s handle.

The sky is lit with stars, and Regina knows that Emma only has eyes for Hook.

Regina keeps her eyes trained on the heart beating wildly in Gold’s hand.

“Drop the heart,” Belle instructs, her voice level and sharp around the edges. And there is every bit of reluctance and agony in Gold’s expression as his hand slackens around Hook’s heart and follows his wife’s instruction. Regina’s hands move quickly to slow the fall before the heart hits the ground, giving Hook enough time to catch it with his hand.

Next to her, Emma breathes, and the sky grows dark again.

“Now,” Belle says, her voice finally wavering a little, “give me the hatbox, and tell me about New York.”

Reluctantly, Gold reaches for the box and hands it over before turning to face Belle fully. His expression shifts into something much more pleading, then, and Regina feels closer to him in that moment than she has in a long time. “I did,” he says, clearly losing a fight to sound calm and rational. “I told you -- I wanted to take you out of here. I wanted you to see the world. I wanted --”

“You wanted to save her skin along with your own,” Hook interjects derisively. “You were going to take her and your grandson and leave the rest of them to tear each other apart limb from limb --”

And Regina does not need to hear another _word_ for every fiber of her being to go cold.

“Wait, _what_?” Emma asks, speaking for the first time since they set foot in the building. “How did you -- what did you do, make a deal with Ingrid so you could cross the town line? With --”

“With _our son_ ,” Regina finishes for her, her voice dangerously low.

She doesn’t know whether she wants to murder Gold or thank him, but she’ll figure it out once she gets to the top of those stairs.

“Regina,” Emma murmurs, enclosing a hand around Regina’s arm to keep her in place. “Don’t.” Regina narrows her eyes and looks down pointedly at the point of contact between them, but Emma refuses to let go. “Believe me, I’m as pissed as you are, but it’s over now, okay? Henry’s safe. _This isn’t our fight_.”

The magic burning in Regina’s veins argues otherwise.

Hook voices that dissent aloud. “Emma, he tried to put you in that hat,” he argues emphatically. “He deserves everything Regina’s capable of throwing at him and then some.”

“Regina,” Belle says, so quietly that Regina almost doesn’t hear her. Reluctantly, Regina forces her gaze back up to where Belle is standing next to Gold atop the platform. “Do you trust me?”

Regina looks from Belle to Gold and back again, hesitation creeping into her voice. “It’s not _you_ I don’t trust,” she says carefully.

“Do you trust me?” Belle asks again, and her voice is clear and steady again but her hands are shaking and she’s unraveling at the seams and --

And this is Belle’s happy ending -- lost and found all at once.

This isn’t Belle’s fault.

Regina takes a deep breath to steady herself and pulls her arm out of Emma’s hold. “I trust you.”

Regina stands and watches as Belle’s lip trembles and her eyes start to water and she starts to fracture and break, her hand still holding tight to the dagger. “Good,” she says thickly, voice quivering. A visible, audible swallow, and Belle’s eyes do not leave her husband’s. “Then take us somewhere we can be alone, Rumple,” she commands. “I’m going to make sure you never get to leave Storybrooke again.”

And in a cloud of smoke, they’re gone.

Emma is up the stairs to Hook before Regina can do so much as blink, and Regina has to lean against the wall of the clock tower so her legs don’t give out from under her.

She almost lost her son again.

She screws her eyes shut and tries to remember how to breathe, wills her heart to stop beating so wildly and feels the magic in her veins slow to a simmer. She remembers what that dagger had felt like, in her hand, remembers the dark mingling with her newfound light. She remembers wanting to rid herself of it, remembers not wanting to be tempted, remembers trusting Belle, then. She remembers the words she’d used to quell Gold’s protests against sparing Zelena’s life.

_Heroes don’t kill._

Regina takes a gasping breath and tries to remember how far she has come -- Henry and Snow and Emma and the stupid sacrifices she has made for this town and Robin and the lengths she went to in order to save Marian’s life.

Villains take the easy way out.

That’s not who Regina is any more.

Breath coming a little more evenly now, Regina opens her eyes but keeps her gaze trained on the floor to give herself more time regain her composure. She tucks her hands into her coat pocket in an effort to anchor herself a little, brow furrowing in confusion when her fingers enclose around a piece of paper. Curious, she pulls it out of her pocket, her entire face relaxing into an amused smile at the sight that greets her.

She’s been carrying around the alternate version of page twenty-three in her pocket all night long.

She spares a glance over at Hook, whose arms are wrapped tightly around Emma, and in that moment, Regina distinctly remembers the warning he’d given her down in the mines.

_Revenge isn’t a beginning; it’s an end._

With hope in her hands and both light and dark in her veins, Regina knows that this is still her second chance.

It’s a start.

* * * * *

Mulan is restless.

She has never been good with idle time, even when the world is at peace and there is nothing to keep her occupied. The world -- _this_ world, anyway -- is not at peace, and yet here Mulan sits, alone and without occupation. Regina had insisted that Mulan’s assistance was not required in confronting Rumplestiltskin -- Gold, Mulan remembers, they call him Gold here and it does not suit him.

Snow had escorted Mulan here, to the sitting room of what seems to be a hostel, well over an hour ago and instructed her to wait for one of them to come back and help her get settled. But Mulan has not been able to stay still, too anxious to just _stay put and wait_. She’s spent the better part of the last hour inspecting the various trappings and contraptions of this world. There is light without fire or sun and a magic devil’s box that makes too much noise and pulls moving images from thin air (and she thinks of Neal, then, of movies and stories being told across realms).

But it’s been over an hour, now, and Mulan is admittedly _tired_. The sky is dark outside and she knows the hour is getting late, but she can’t sleep -- not here, not now, not yet. With a sigh, she sinks down onto one of the couches and starts to dig through her satchel just to keep her hands busy. Her hands move past her spare clothes and her canteen, past the various medicinal herbs and the last of the Arendelle chocolate she’d managed to steal before she’d had to run for her life. Briefly, her hand encloses around the apple from Regina’s tree. It had taken Mulan three days to realize that the apple wasn’t rotting and could not be eaten, and it taken almost another week entirely for Mulan to realize that the enchantment upon it was not to preserve the apple but to protect _her_. It had only taken one close encounter with Zelena’s monkeys for the realization to occur, and Mulan is quite aware that she probably owes Regina her life many times over by now.

It’s Regina who walks through one of the doors, now, and she too, is alone.

Mulan withdraws her hand from her satchel, apple still in her grasp, and she sits up a little stranger. “Is everything all right?”

Regina looks as tired as Mulan feels, but she nods in assent as she sinks down on the couch opposite Mulan. “Fine,” she sighs, tucking her hair behind her ear. “Well -- at least as fine as it can be, I think. Gold’s being… handled.”

“And Hook?” Mulan asks. “Emma seemed… worried.”

“His heart’s still in one piece,” Regina says. She pauses, then, swallows hard and looks down in what is clearly an effort to compose herself. The barest of smiles flickers its way onto her face before she looks back up at Mulan. “You still have the apple I gave you.”

“Oh,” Mulan says, a little flustered as she tosses it from one hand to the other. “Yes, I do.”

“How long did it take you to figure out that it was enchanted?”

“In total? Ten days,” Mulan admits. “Once I’d figured out its purpose, I made sure not to lose it. It -- it saved my life more than once, Regina. Thank you.”

Regina’s lips twist like she’s trying not to let her smile grow. “I’m sure your survival skills deserve most of the credit. The apple was just… a precaution.”

It takes everything in Mulan not to laugh at her, then, because the queen is _demuring_ and it’s the most ridiculous thing Mulan has encountered in a while. A humble Regina is interesting, at the very least, and maybe a little attractive, but Mulan figures that this is probably Regina’s way of showing that she cares. And god, Mulan has been back a mere number of hours and she really has no idea how she’s figured out to read Regina already.

Then again, Regina seems a little less guarded here in Storybrooke than she was in the Enchanted Forest.

Mulan clear her throat and deposits the apple back in her bag, digging around for the list Regina had given to her back in the Enchanted Forest. “Was Robin angry when he found out I’d left?”

“No,” Regina answers immediately, and the sureness of her answer causes Mulan to pause in her search and look back up with an arched eyebrow. “Not angry,” Regina amends. “Upset, maybe, but that was more about my involvement. All he had for you was concern for your well-being.”

“He’s here, isn’t he?” Mulan checks, resuming perusing through her bag. “Snow said that everyone was brought back by another curse, but she didn’t really have the time to go into the details.”

“He’s here,” Regina assures her. Another pause, this one more weighted than before, and Mulan has to do a double take when she realizes that Regina is _blushing_.

Huh. That’s interesting.

“He’ll, um -- he’ll be glad to see you, I’m sure,” Regina says, clearing her throat and looking away uncomfortably. “What, uh -- was there anything in particular you wanted me to catch you up on before you get settled in?” she asks, clearly trying to change the subject.

Mulan decides not to press the issue and finally locates the list Regina had given her, her hands shaking a little as she unfolds it. “Yes, I, um -- I managed to locate most of the people and items on the list,” she explains, offering the page to Regina. “There were a few things I needed that were impossible to get -- mostly because they involved Zelena and Phillip and Aurora. But I thought -- I thought if I brought everything back to you, you might be able to help me finish what I started.”

Regina hardly spares a glance for the list before setting it aside and turning her gaze back to Mulan. “That’s… impressive,” she says carefully, “but it’s not necessary any more.”

“I wasn’t sure,” Mulan admits, shifting uncomfortably on the couch. “Snow said that Zelena wasn’t a problem any more, but I didn’t know what that meant for Phillip and Aurora.”

“Zelena’s been taken care of,” Regina assures her, a hint of melancholy in her voice. “I found a way to counter her magic.”

Mulan sinks back against the cushions, a little bewildered and maybe a lot impressed. “How did you manage that?”

The corner of Regina’s mouth twitches, the ghost of an almost smile. “Light magic,” she admits. “I’m not sure if it’s a new development or if I was just carrying around untapped potential for a while, but it was enough to render her powerless.”

Mulan knows she fails at masking the look of surprise on her face, but she feels the ghost of Regina’s smile start to creep into her own. “That’s new.”

And then Regina smiles -- an actual, real smile -- and for a moment, it takes Mulan’s breath away.

She has so many _questions_.

“New, but not… unwelcome,” Regina muses. She takes a moment to consider Mulan, her features softening a little, before she speaks again. “It was enough to reverse the spells Zelena cast,” she adds, “which means your friends are…. themselves again.” Mulan can hardly _breathe_ with the confirmation because they’re here, they’re okay, and Mulan cannot look at Regina again or else she will lose her composure entirely. “They’re upstairs,” Regina says softly. “Would you like me to get them for you?”

Mulan nods wordlessly, tucks her chin against her chest and struggles to breathe. There are tears stinging at her eyes and she has no words to express her gratitude to Regina for this, nothing beyond the beat of her heart and the ease of ache dissipating in her chest.

Mulan’s love lives and breathes, and Regina has given hope back to her.

Mulan is vaguely aware of Regina pushing herself to her feet and moving toward one of the doors, but her attention is mostly unfocused until she hears Regina let out a noise of surprise in the adjoining hallway. “I was just on my way upstairs to look for you,” Regina says.

Mulan looks up, her vision blurred with tears that haven’t fallen yet, and without breath in her lungs, her heart still beats.

“Phillip’s upstairs with the baby,” a voice answers, and it’s _Aurora_ and the rest of the words are lost on Mulan, breath gone from her lungs.

Mulan catapults herself to her feet, and this time when her hand encloses around the doorknob, there is no hesitation whatsoever before she pulls it the rest of the way open.

Regina glances over her shoulder in surprise, but there is every trace of warmth in her smile before she steps aside to let Mulan pass.

Aurora is a _vision_ in front of her, a too-long-awaited manifestation of the dreams Mulan has had every night for well over a year, and where Aurora loses her breath, Mulan gains hers back. " _Mulan_ ," Aurora breathes, and all at once, she is dropping the basket of clothes in her hands and closing the distance between them.

Aurora's arms wrap around her tight, and this, Mulan thinks, is what coming home feels like.

* * * * *


	3. July 20, 2013 - September 2, 2013

**Storybrooke -- Summer 2013**

* * * * *

Spring burns into summer, and Regina wakes with new skin.

There are very few things she’s aware of as consciousness slowly starts to creep in around the edges of sleep. It’s warm, for one, but the soft slide of her bedsheets against her skin is a wonderfully cooling balm. She’s not sure at what point during the night she must’ve thrown the rest of the blankets off, but she doesn’t particularly care. Comfortable and a little lethargic, she curls a little tighter around her pillow and flexes her toes, legs unfurling into a stretch and --

Oh.

Blearily, Regina blinks her eyes and glances down at the sheet covering her naked body. The previous night comes back to her in flashes -- Robin’s hands in her hair and her teeth sunken into his shoulder and too much sweat from the summer heat and her legs around his waist as she moved above him. Now, all Regina is left with is new, naked skin and a thin bedsheet and tousled hair and the dry, tacky remnants of his come between her thighs and an empty space on the opposite side of the bed.

Frowning sleepily, Regina props herself up on her elbows and glances around, careful not to let the bedsheet slip off. It occurs to her a little belatedly that it probably doesn’t matter if it does, since Henry had stayed with Emma last night, but it’s instinctual at this point, the need to cover herself up.

And, well, it’s not like Robin has spent the night here before.

As if on cue, the door to the bathroom opens and a nearly fully dressed and clearly recently-showered Robin emerges, his hands adjusting his shirt in his hands before tugging it on. Regina relaxes a little and huffs out a sigh, causing him to smile in her direction. “Well,” he drawls, moving around the bed toward her side, “look who’s finally woken up.”

She can’t help the smile that blossoms onto her face as he sinks down onto the bed next to her. “Does this mean it’s my turn to cook you breakfast?”

Regina could _swear_ that Robin almost blushes as he looks away, his fingers brushing lightly against her arm. “While that does sound lovely, I promised Marian I’d meet her at Granny’s before our appointment.”

Regina inhales sharply and shivers a little, reaching up to tangle their fingers together so she’s not quite so… distracted. “Your, um, your appointment?”

“Yes, we’re, um -- we’re meeting with a lawyer,” he answers, clearly distracted and trying to choose his words carefully. “We’re trying to figure out if our marriage is even still valid or if we need to go through with a divorce or whatever the case is,” he sighs. Regina sits up a little, her fingers flexing anxiously against his, but he stills her movement by pressing a soft kiss to her palm. “Hey,” he murmurs. “Messy. Complicated. It’s going to be all right. Have a little --”

“ _Don’t_ ,” she warns, teasing. “If you keep saying it, Mary Margaret is going to set up a special jar for just _my_ quarters. I’m not giving her the satisfaction.” Robin’s nose wrinkles in clear amusement, but he doesn’t reply, just smiles against her skin and moves his lips up to the inside of her wrist. Regina takes a measured breath and bites her lip, trying to stay focused. “What, um -- what time do you have to meet Marian?”

“Soon,” he murmurs, scooting a little closer so he can card his fingers through her hair. “Soon enough that I’m afraid I don’t have the time to go another round, much as I’d like to.”

Regina bites back a grin, fingers idly tracing the ink on his arm. “If I remember correctly, it still counts as the first time if we don’t leave the room, right?”

“ _Regina_ ,” he groans, but she silences the rest of his protest by fisting her free hand in his shirt and tugging him to her for a kiss. It’s selfish -- stupid and selfish and summer has made her senseless, but right now, Regina cannot bring herself to care. He’s here with her, now, and every moment they have is theirs -- true and blank and unwritten.

Regina is not afraid.

He’s half-hovering over her, free hand reaching behind her to grip the headboard of the bed tightly for leverage, when the doorbell rings downstairs. Robin huffs out a frustrated sigh against her mouth and pulls away slightly. “I’m starting to grow suspicious,” he mutters. “What’s the saying -- once is incidental, twice is a coincidence --”

“-- and three times is a pattern,” Regina laughs, darting in to kiss him once more before relaxing against her pillows again. “Have you been keeping track?”

“No,” he denies, but all it takes is one skeptical look from Regina to pull the truth from him. “Perhaps,” he admits. “There was Henry at Granny’s, a couple of months ago, and then Emma when we were at the pond --”

“-- and now whoever is downstairs,” Regina finishes for him. “It’s probably Mary Margaret. She wanted to revisit the whole Mayor 101 thing from last month. Actually,” she says, brow furrowing a little, “you should probably go answer the door before she breaks in and comes up here.”

Robin’s lips twist into a smile. “I was going to argue, but then I remembered the wanted posters, and, well.”

“Go,” Regina laughs, shoving lightly at his shoulder and sitting up the rest of the way. “Tell her I’ll be downstairs in a few. I need to get dressed.”

“All right, going, going,” Robin relents, pushing himself to his feet. He leans down and picks up some of Regina’s clothes from the floor before tossing them to her, grinning cheekily. Regina rolls her eyes and turns her attention to the clothes in her hands, searching for her lingerie. “Regina?” She _hmms_ in his direction, not bothering to look up at him.

She’s startled when he takes her face in his hands and captures her lips in a too-warm kiss, breath caught between them. Her exhale is shaky and uneven when he pulls away, and she shivers in the morning heat.

“Hope,” he says, bold as brass, and then his hands are gone and all she manages to catch a glimpse of before he’s gone is his stupid, infuriating smile.

She’s going to make him pay for that one.

She’s a little slow in pulling herself together -- she doesn’t have time to shower with Mary Margaret waiting for her downstairs, she’s overslept, and the warm summer air is making her a little more sluggish than usual. The circumstances allow for a little flexibility, though; it’s not as if they’re planning on going anywhere right away. So Regina settles for throwing last night’s clothes into her hamper and digs around in her drawers quickly before settling on a thin, cotton shirt and a pair of shorts she’s fairly certain she hasn’t worn since long before Emma ever came to town. She’s halfway down the stairs and is absent-mindedly pulling her hair back into a ponytail when she catches sight of someone standing in her foyer and --

Oh.

That’s… not Mary Margaret.

“Belle,” Regina says slowly, feeling a little flustered and a lot underdressed. “I… wasn’t expecting you.”

“I know,” Belle allows, warmer than Regina would expect. “I just -- Robin let me in. He said I could wait here.” And there’s something more, there, in Belle’s tone and the spark in her eyes -- curiosity, Regina thinks -- but Belle falls silent and doesn’t pry.

“It’s fine,” Regina sighs, rolling her shoulders back to try and force herself back into better posture as she reaches the bottom of the stairs. “Let’s… go into the kitchen,” she suggests, leading the way. “Can I get you anything? Coffee or tea or --”

“Tea is fine,” Belle says, settling onto a bar stool.

It’s only then, as Regina makes her way around the kitchen to start preparing drinks, that she notices the bag Belle has brought with her. “Portable library?” Regina guesses, nodding at the bag as she sets the tea kettle on the stove.

Belle glances at the bag briefly before turning her gaze back on Regina, eyes sparking with what looks like amusement. “Uh, no,” she says, the barest hint of a laugh in her voice. “I, um -- I was hoping to get your help with something.”

Regina leans against the counter, feeling a little uncomfortably on display. “I’m assuming it’s magic related,” she says, feigning nonchalance. Belle nods, her eyes not quite meeting Regina’s as she shifts and squirms on the bar stool. She looks acutely uncomfortable, and she doesn’t need to speak for Regina to know why. “This is about G -- your husband,” she figures, still a little too angry to let his name slip past her lips.

Belle’s eyes squeeze shut at that, and she’s quiet for a long moment before she answers. “Ex-husband,” she corrects, so quiet that Regina can barely hear her. “Or he will be, soon enough. I’ve already filed the papers.”

Regina thinks of Robin, briefly, of the same path he’s taking with Marian now. The situations are so different -- both born out of choice, one weighed down by betrayal and deceit. Regina can only understand so far; she’s only been married once and, well, the whole affair had gone spectacularly poorly from start to finish. But she recognizes the ache that Belle carries in her shoulders, remember seeing it in Mulan, remembers all of the times she’s felt it herself and that, at least, is something Regina can understand. It’s ache that’s never really going to go away -- especially now that G -- _he_ isn’t allowed to leave Storybrooke again. Belle’s ache is wrapped up in a happy ending gained and lost, living and breathing and a constant, everyday presence.

Regina wouldn’t wish that ache on anyone, now.

Regina takes a deep breath to steady herself and turns her attention back to doctoring their drinks. “What did you need my help with?” she asks, moving the tea kettle off of the burner.

“Mostly this,” Belle explains, digging in her bag before she unearths a small, round box.

The sight of it gives Regina pause. “The hat.”

“There are people in here,” Belle says emphatically, setting the box down on the island with the utmost care. “Mother Superior, the rest of the fairies --”

“Tinkerbell,” Regina breathes. She grips the edge of the counter to steady herself for a moment before clearing her throat. “How, um -- do you know what has to be done to bring them back?” she asks, turning to retrieve a mug and teacup from the cupboard.

“Yes,” Belle says, but there is clear hesitation in her voice. She’s quiet again for another long moment, long enough that Regina ends up turning around with the teacup in hand to see if she can discern the problem.

The teacup slips from Regina’s fingers and shatters into pieces on the floor at the sight of the object in Belle’s hand.

Belle starts a little in her seat but doesn’t move to get up. “I know,” Belle says, and it’s absolutely an apology. “I know, but I didn’t have any other choice.”

Regina exhales shakily and leans back against the counter again, trying to put as much distance between her and that damn dagger as she possibly can. “Are you absolutely sure there’s no other way?”

Belle nods and sets the dagger down carefully on the counter next to the hatbox. “I spoke with Hook. He spent enough time with Rumple to understand how it works. The hat will only respond to someone with magic, and between you and Emma, you’re the one with more experience.” And there’s more there that Belle is leaving unspoken -- experience with dark magic, experience with the dagger in particular -- but she doesn’t actually _say it_ , and Regina finds herself grateful for that.

Another heavy, measured breath, and Regina glances down at the shattered porcelain on the floor. She’s quick to pull the pieces back together with her magic and busies herself for a moment with cleaning the cup in the sink. This is her role, now, her contribution to the side she’s chosen. She is the one to make the hardest choices, the one to get her hands dirty, the one to dabble in darkness.

She is both dark and light, and she can _do this_.

She does her best to school her features into something resembling composure before she turns around to face Belle again. “Okay,” she agrees, setting the cup on the counter. “We can do it later today -- find a clearing in the woods, make sure we give ourselves enough room. Who knows how many people are in there?”

“Right,” Belle agrees faintly, eyes falling to the dagger. A beat, and then, “Regina, I --”

And Belle doesn’t have to say another word for Regina to understand. It’s all there, plain as day with the dagger resting on the island between them. The dagger is tainted with memory -- Zelena’s manipulation and control; Regina’s brief sparks of light before she’d washed her hands clean of it; Belle’s implicit trust; G -- _his_ deception.

This is Belle’s ache, and she doesn’t want to carry it with her.

“You want me to keep it, when I’m done,” Regina surmises, scarce able to breathe through the words.

Belle’s expression shifts into something a little more… pensive, and still, she doesn’t look Regina in the eye. “I don’t trust him enough to hold onto it myself.”

Something deflates in Regina at that, and she remembers Belle’s words to her in the clocktower. “But you trust me enough?” she asks. “You trust me to not do what Zelena did? You trust me not to use it against him?”

It’s _that_ which gets Belle to finally look up at her again. “Yes,” Belle says. “I do.”

* * * * *

Spring bleeds into summer, and Rumplestiltskin finds himself more eager than ever to shed his skin.

He feels very much like his father’s son these days -- a boy who has lost too much, a coward seeking bravery. But Rumplestiltskin is not afraid.

He is _angry_.

He is angry that his sacrifice meant nothing. He is angry that his son is dead. He is angry that the woman responsible took his freedom from him for a full year. He is angry that Ingrid’s remorse threw a wrench in his plans. He is angry that he could not crush that blasted pirate’s heart. He is angry that he is bound to Storybrooke by magic.

He is angry with himself for hurting Belle.

But more than anything, Rumplestiltskin is angry that he is still _living_ , and while he lives and breathes, his life is not his own -- not with the dagger out of his control. He needs to get it back, needs his life in his own hands again. And right now, it’s not even Belle who holds it.

It’s Regina.

Because for all of his flaws, Rumplestiltskin is an incredibly patient man, and he is nothing if not careful. He’s spent the last several weeks biding his time -- watching, waiting. He’s been content to fade into the shadows where he belongs, content to bite his tongue and let them all forget about him. And in that time, Rumplestiltskin has learned a fair number of things.

There are two chairs at the mayor’s desk.

Belle has stopped wearing her wedding ring.

Regina has the dagger.

Belle had held onto it for a short while, true, but Rumplestiltskin had been in the forest the day that she and Regina had walked into a large clearing together. He’d been there when Belle had given Regina the dagger, and he’d watched as Regina had released his victims from the Sorcerer’s hat and undone all of his hard work.

Regina hadn’t given the dagger back to Belle.

Which means that it’s Regina in his way, now. It’s another Mills woman with his dagger in her possession, and it’s another Mills woman who has the power to control him now. Cora had manipulated him and tried to take his life from him. Zelena had manipulated Bae into getting Rumplestiltskin’s life back for him, but she’d seized control over it -- over _him_ as soon as she was able.

Regina has always been different. Regina has always been the pawn in someone else’s game, even when she was calling the shots and making one mistake after another. She’s been Rumplestiltskin’s puppet since before she was even conceived, but in spite of all of the times she has angered him to the point of trying to murder her, he has never quite wanted to cut the ties that bind them. There have been a few near misses, to be sure, but he is so bound to her that killing her wouldn’t benefit him at all. He still doesn’t want to kill her, now -- not even after she’d tried to stop him from killing Zelena, not even after her annoying assistance in the clocktower in the spring, not even now, with the dagger in her possession.

But Rumplestiltskin is not enough of a fool to think that Regina would consider giving him his dagger back, not even for a second, and therein lies his problem.

He doesn’t need Regina dead -- he needs her out of commission.

And he can’t do it himself, not if he wants to remain in the shadows and avoid suspicion.

Hence how he finds himself here, tonight, lurking in the shadows of an alleyway and waiting for his prey.

Because among other things, Rumplestiltskin has paid attention to more than just his (soon to be ex) wife and his most promising protege. He has noticed the fire that catches in the mines under the library, has noticed the girl with long dark hair who is bound to the side of a prince and a princess and their child. In particular, he has paid close attention to the habits of the prince who used to be a beast -- the predictable paths and the set schedules and the ease of expectations.

Tonight will be different.

Tonight, Rumplestiltskin has all the patience in the world.

So he sits and watches and waits, twists his wedding band around his finger and keeps to the shadows.

And when the prince passes the alley at exactly half past nine o’clock, Rumplestiltskin’s hands are ready and waiting to pull him into the darkness.

He’s quick to silence the prince’s scream of surprise, quick to immobilize him and push him against the wall of the alley. The moon casts shadows of light across the prince’s panicked face and Rumplestiltskin is _angry_. He forces his hand into the prince’s chest with hardly a second thought, hand gripping the prince’s heart. The prince lets out a faint noise of pain, barely audible, but Rumplestiltskin cannot find it in himself to feel sorry for the prince -- he _needs_ this heart. “So sorry about this, dearie,” he murmurs, careful to keep his voice quiet. “But I’m afraid this has much more value to me than it ever will to you.” And there’s no hesitation in his pull as he extracts the prince’s glowing heart, no sound but a gasping breath from the prince before his eyes slip shut. Rumplestitlskin rolls his eyes at the prince’s weak constitution and lets him slump to the ground amongst his dropped belongings.

Rumplestiltskin cannot afford to let the prince live much longer.

Quickly, Rumplestiltskin checks their surroundings to be sure of their solitude before he unearths a knife and a vial from his coat pocket. He spares a half-glance at the prince as he starts to pierce the prince’s heart with the blade of the knife. The prince doesn’t make a sound, and undeterred, Rumplestiltskin drags the knife the rest of the way down.

The light of the heart dims and fades, and the prince lies dead on the ground.

With a smile, Rumplestiltskin lets the blood drip from the heart into the vial.

He has the fuel he needs for his fire.

The heart has nearly bled dry when he’s startled by the clacking of heels on pavement, and he barely has time to glance around to make sure he hasn’t left any trace of his presence before he transports himself to the far corner across the street. He stays in the shadows as he watches the figure in heels approach the mess of objects on the sidewalk next to the alleyway, and it takes Rumplestiltskin a moment to realize that it’s Regina.

How fitting.

She’s all alarm and panic and concern when she discovers the prince’s body. She’s careful with her hands and surprisingly controlled with her voice when she pulls out her phone to make a call, but her eyes cast all around, searching.

With an empty heart and blood on his hands, Rumplestiltskin fades back into the shadows, and Regina does not find him.

* * * * *

The hospital waiting room is too-loud in its silence, and Regina sits alone, waiting.

She shivers and runs her hands over the material of her dress, fingers flexing anxiously around her knees. She’s restless and has been for the better part of an hour, since she’d happened upon Phillip’s body in the alley and accompanied him to the hospital. She’s not waiting to receive news, now, but rather to give it.

Regina’s heart feels heavy in her chest, and Mary Margaret’s voice is like a haunting whisper in the empty halls -- _you feel things with your whole soul_.

Hands stilling, Regina closes her eyes and exhales heavily.

She wishes she didn’t have to do this.

The rush of footsteps in the nearby hallway pulls her out of her reverie, and she barely manages to push herself to her feet before the door swings open. It’s Aurora who meets Regina’s eyes first, Aurora who is clearly panicked and breathless and worried. Mulan is the one who follows, a bag slung over her shoulder and the baby tucked safely in her arms. “Regina,” Aurora greets, clearly a little startled to see her but crossing the room to meet her all the same. “We got a message about Phillip being here. Do you know where he might be, or -- or how we might find him? Is there someone we should speak to? They wouldn’t tell me anything else over the phone --”

“No, they wouldn’t,” Regina sighs. “It’s, um -- you don’t have to speak with anyone else. I’m the one who found him and had him brought here.”

“Found him?” Mulan echoes, shifting the baby in her arms. “Found him where? Is he all right? Is he hurt?”

“He, um, he was in an alley not far from here,” Regina explains, not for the first time tonight. “He wasn’t conscious and he didn’t seem injured, but he wasn’t --” And Regina has to stop, here, has to swallow around the lump in her throat and try to remember how to breathe. She has to force herself to look at Aurora regardless of how painful it is, regardless of the spark Regina knows she’s about to extinguish, regardless of how much Regina feels like she’s looking at herself at eighteen again, right before her hope died. “He wasn’t breathing,” Regina says, hating the way her voice shakes. “He wasn’t breathing, and I -- I couldn’t find a pulse and his heart wasn’t beating --”

“ _Where is he_?” Aurora demands, her own voice shaking. She glances wildly around the room for a moment before her gaze lands on the door behind Regina, and she’s brushing past Regina without so much as another word or glance. Mulan is quick to follow, steadfastly not meeting Regina’s eyes, and Regina forces herself to accompany them into the wing where Phillip is being kept.

“I don’t understand,” Aurora babbles, eyes trained on her husband’s still body. “I don’t understand, what happened to him?”

Whale catches Regina’s eye, briefly, before he takes a step closer to the bed. His voice is quiet and full of melancholy when he speaks, and it takes everything in Regina to keep herself here, now, in the present and not back in that tent with Daniel’s body. “He had a heart attack,” Whale explains gently. “His heart just… stopped working, stopped beating.”

“So, wha -- that’s it?” Mulan breathes, her voice sounding strained. “There’s nothing you can do for him? He’s just -- he’s just _gone_? He’s --”

“No,” Aurora says, reaching for Phillip’s hand. “No, he’s not -- he can’t just be --” Her words fail her for a moment, and she sinks down in the chair next to the bed, breath leaving her all at once. “He’s young,” Aurora says emphatically, still not tearing her eyes away. “He’s young and he has been in good health. This doesn’t -- this doesn’t make any _sense_ ,” she implores, glancing around at the rest of them. “There’s no reason why his heart would just stop… beating,” she says faintly, voice trailing off as her gaze falls upon Mulan.

There’s a brief moment of quiet, and then there is nothing but chaos and pain.

“No,” Aurora says thickly, tears springing to her eyes as she turns her gaze back to her husband. “No, no, no, that’s not -- I didn’t -- _no_ ,” she gasps, tears spilling onto her cheeks as she tightens her grip on Phillip’s hand and hunches over the edge of the bed. “ _No_!” she says again, sharp and loud and not quite a scream. _No_ again, a sob this time and Aurora is _shaking_ and she has no other words, just _no_ again and again until they blur together and one is indistinguishable from the next.

Regina tries to remember how to breathe.

She is not eighteen.

This is not the stables.

This is not her pain.

Next to her, Mulan’s jaw is trembling, her own eyes glassy with tears. The baby stirs and starts to cry in Mulan’s arms the louder Aurora’s laments become. That seems to snap Mulan into aborted action, and she looks lost and helpless and overwhelmed as she tries to comfort the child in her arms, her breath coming out short and labored and uneven.

“Here,” Regina offers, closing the space between them and finding herself grateful for the distraction. “Let me take him.” Mulan spares her a brief glance before turning the attention back to the baby in her arms, and as much as Mulan might trust her, Regina knows that’s not what this is about. “I’ll be right here,” she assures Mulan quietly. “I’ll just be in the chair in the corner, okay? I won’t leave the room.”

Another half moment of hesitation, but Mulan only has eyes for Aurora, now, and she’s quick in her relent. “Thank you,” Mulan murmurs thickly, shifting the baby into Regina’s waiting arms and sliding the strap of the bag off of her shoulder. Regina hoists the bag onto her shoulder and steps back a few feet, taking a moment to make sure she’s got a good hold on the baby before she goes any farther. Mulan pulls up another nearby chair and sinks down as close as she can next to Aurora.

Their fingers intertwine, and Regina forces herself to turn away to give them some privacy.

She manages to settle into the chair in the corner with relative ease and sets the bag aside, focusing her attention on trying to soothe the crying child in her arms. “ _Shhh_ ,” she murmurs, rocking him gently against her chest. “You’re okay,” she says, because it’s the only thing she can promise him right now. “You’re okay.”

It’s been ages since she’s really held a baby like this. She’s been on the receiving end of Neal a handful of times, the contact always brief and never intimate. Really, Regina doesn’t think she’s been this close to a baby since Henry was this young and small, and the realization makes her muscles tense with nervousness. It’d taken her a while to find her footing, with Henry, but she _had_ found it. They’d both found a comfortable rhythm with one another, and if Regina closes her eyes, she can remember the way her heart had guided her hands into movement.

In the opposite corner, both women are lost to grief, and this is all Regina has to give.

Gently, Regina rubs her hand along the baby’s back and continues rocking him. She presses her lips to his forehead and keeps her voice soft and begins to hum a slightly off-key melody into his skin. And, miraculously, within a few moments, it’s clearly the sound of music that gets him to quiet, his cries tapering off until he’s doing little more than snuffling and snuggling against her chest.

Regina smiles, and together, they drift.

It’s several hours before anyone makes any real movement, well past two in the morning, and Regina is so exhausted that she very nearly starts when she realizes that Mulan is standing in front of her. “Hey,” Regina whispers, taking care not to wake the baby.

Mulan looks ten times more tired than Regina feels, her eyes red and raw and devoid of light. Regina knows that any and all pretense will be gone at this point, but she hardly blames them. “We’re, uh, we’re going to head back to Granny’s,” Mulan explains, voice sounding scratchy.

Regina surveys her for a moment, notes the way Mulan’s shoulders are sagged and her arms hang limply at her sides and her legs have started to tremble. Beyond her, Aurora is still hunched over in her chair next to the bed, head in her hands and palms pressing hard against her eyes. “Let me walk back with you,” Regina offers, turning her attention back to Mulan.

Mulan swallows around a sigh and she looks so _tired_ , but there’s more there, underneath her skin. She may be barely keeping it together, but she _is_ relatively composed, considering. And Regina knows it’s all for Aurora, knows that Mulan’s devotion has kept her alive and carried her between realms. Regina’s desire for revenge had done the same for her for so long, but there had been more beneath that, too -- love, and loss.

Light and dark.

“I don’t want to keep you,” Mulan murmurs, tucking her hair behind her ear. “I know you probably want to get home to Henry.”

Regina sits up a little and cradles the baby close, and this, too, is a thing that she can offer right now. She can be composed where Mulan is not, each of them keeping someone else afloat in turn. “Henry’s with Emma,” Regina explains. “She, uh -- she’s finally moving into her own place, but she wanted Henry to feel like he had his own space there from the start. And I’m --” She hesitates, here, unsure how best to phrase what she wants to say without sounding insincere. “I’d… like to be here to help, if I can.”

Curiosity sparks and flickers and dies quickly in Mulan’s eyes, but she doesn’t ask any questions or protest. “Okay,” she agrees faintly. “That’s -- thank you. I appreciate it.”

They’re both quiet as Regina resituates the baby in her arms and grabs the diaper bag from the floor, neither of them speaking as Regina rises and follows Mulan back to where Aurora is still seated next to the bed. Regina resumes her gentle rocking of the baby to ensure he stays asleep for a while longer. And still, Mulan doesn’t speak, just brushes her fingertips across the back of Aurora’s hand -- a gentle prompting. It’s a long few moments before Aurora manages to lift her head, but she only has eyes for Phillip. Another long moment of hesitation, and Aurora reaches out a shaking hand, fingertips tracing Phillip’s hairline. “I don’t understand,” she repeats for what feels like the thousandth time, her voice dull and hollow and still somehow broken and aching. “I love him,” she says.

Regina closes her eyes and presses her lips to the baby’s skin so she doesn’t speak the words that burn in her throat. She of all people knows just how powerful love can be, but she also knows the pain of it not being enough.

Love cannot bring back the dead, and they are not children any more.

In Regina’s silence, Aurora speaks again, finally looking up and meeting Mulan’s eyes. “ _I love him_ ,” she says again, emphatic and imploring. “I don’t understand.”

There is pain and ache and loss and understanding in Mulan’s expression but confusion in her eyes, and the only thing she offers in return is, “I know.”

Aurora closes her eyes and exhales sharply, and there is pain etched in the lines of her face and too much weight on her shoulders. Blindly, she reaches out a shaking hand for Mulan to take, and her grip is so tight that her knuckles turn white. “I love him,” Aurora says, and it sounds different this time. “He should still be here.”

And Regina finally understands -- Aurora thinks this is her fault.

* * * * *

In the mines, there is nothing but ash and dust and darkness, and Rumplestiltskin goes in search of fire with the blood from a heart-shaped wreckage.

He sets off on the path he’d taken mere weeks ago, down the same set of tunnels and beyond the edge of the cliff next to the chasm. He follows the trail of burnt matches he’d left here during his last visit, and -- upon reaching the end of it -- strikes a few more, watching the flames catch and burn and seek out the feathers molted on the ground. He saves the last feather he happens upon and tucks it away, pausing to glance around and take in his surroundings.

Rumplestiltskin lights one more match, and there, at the bottom of the chasm, is the final ingredient he seeks.

Carefully, he inches his way down the thin path to the chasm floor. He finds himself unable to fight back a grin as he collects the shimmering, metallic objects in his hand; he knows that whom he seeks cannot be far. Keeping a tight fist around the flakes of dragon scales in his hand, Rumplestiltskin straightens up and looks around once more.

He is done searching.

She can come to him.

“I know you’re there, dearie,” he calls, his voice echoing up the chasm walls. “You have nothing to fear from me. I have a proposition for you.”

There is a long moment of silence that fills the dark, the tension hanging in the air palpable.

And then, from the shadows and the ash, breath and bone arise, and the phoenix has awakened.

She is nothing but the ghost of what she once was, body and blood lost to her long ago. She is a victim of her own nature and someone else’s design, and Rumplestiltskin knows without speaking that this deal has already been made. “I’m sure you’re not all that pleased with your current… situation,” he says, choosing his words carefully. “I can help.”

She moves without weight or sound or breath through the air, inching closer to him. She inclines her skull, clearly curious, but Rumplestiltskin is not a fool enough to think that she trusts him. Still, he can hear the words that she cannot speak -- _tell me more_.

“I’m in a bit of a predicament myself,” he admits, keeping a tight fist around the armor she’s lost. “There’s something that I’ve lost -- or rather, something that was taken from me. I’d like to get it back.”

She moves a little closer, and her unspoken assumptions hang heavy in the air -- _you want me to get it back_.

Rumplestiltskin’s grin grows.

“A former friend of ours has become a bit of a liability,” he explains, knowing that he doesn’t have to speak the name to invoke the phoenix's fury.

And he’s right -- the screech she lets out is deafening in the chasm, and even without fire, her rage _burns_.

“Try to contain your enthusiasm, dearie,” he drawls, leaning against the wall of the chasm. “I don’t want you to kill her.” A great gust of wind blows through the chasm as she closes the distance between them, the air of near-death all around her. He only leans in closer, and his smile does not fade. “But you can come close.”

If the phoenix could smile, she would.

She wraps the bones of her hand around the skin of his, seeking her fallen pieces.

It’s a done deal.

Rumplestiltskin will get someone else to enact a curse for him again.

Slowly, Rumplestiltskin moves out from under her hovering presence and steps aside. He can feel the ghost of her lingering over his shoulder as he gets to work on the cold, hard ground. A flask to hold the ingredients he’s gathered -- the feathers she’s molted, the scales she’s shed, the prince’s blood tainted with transformation magic. He feels the heat of fire as he strikes another match and sets the contents of the flask aflame. Behind him, she’s practically vibrating in anticipation, and this, he knows, is the air she longs to breathe.

The contents of the flask burn and mingle and glow, and with a satisfied smile, Rumplestiltskin takes the flask in hand and pushes himself to his feet. He hesitates for a moment, watches the bones of her fingers twitch in agitation and desire, before he finally unearths the last piece of the puzzle from his pocket -- the prince’s wounded heart. Into the heart the potion goes, and it only takes seconds for the heart to fill and mend and start to glow.

There is silence, and then there is beating.

Rumplestiltskin holds out the heart in offering. “Do we have a deal?” he asks, but he already knows the answer.

She snatches the heart out of his hand so fast that he hardly has time to shield his eyes before light floods the empty space. She burns into feathered flames, her voice screeching and carrying and echoing in the vast chasm. And one by one, her singed feathers fall to the ground, replaced by scalding scales.

Rumplestiltskin waits until there is nothing left but the sound of her labored breathing, and when he looks to her again, he sees the majestic beast she was born to be.

And he recognizes the fire behind the dragon’s eyes -- _revenge_.

“Welcome back, Maleficent.”

* * * * *

It’s Leroy who ends up running down the main drag through town screaming “ _DRAGON_!” at the top of his lungs.

Regina is thoroughly unsurprised and unamused for about thirty seconds.

And then the town starts to burn.

Everything happens so _fast_ \-- buildings catching on fire and trees falling too close to town and people getting burned and injured. It’s not until the dragon disappears behind the trees and below the horizon that the town can even really take stock of all of the damage. And really, in the grand scheme of things, it’s not _that_ bad. More buildings are damaged than actually turned to ash. With the help of Robin’s men and the forestry department, the fire department manages to contain the flames that have consumed fringes of the forest. It’s the people who are in shambles -- panicked and injured and anxious. Regina leaves most of the masses for Mary Margaret to deal with; she’s always been more of a people person than Regina, and Regina’s efforts are better concentrated elsewhere.

Regina spends the better part of several hours making rounds at the hospital, helping to heal the more seriously injured and burned. It’s still a fairly new thing for her, particularly considering that she’s trying to counter the effects of dragon fire, and the magic that normally burns as fire beneath her skin flickers and fades and cools until she’s left with aching bones. Her magic won’t run out just from overuse, but Regina also knows that she’s still testing her limits with lighter magic. She needs time to recharge and regroup.

And, well.

She needs to find the dragon before it -- before _she_ comes back. Because unless someone else with shape-shifting abilities has slipped through the cracks, Regina knows _exactly_ who the dragon is and where it came from. And if Regina is right, then this is _her_ fight, not anyone else’s.

So she waits to slip away until the worst of the damage is handled and enough people are distracted. She transports herself to the library despite feeling a little magically exhausted, knowing that she’d probably just attract more attention if she walked there among the ashes. The library is cold and dark and empty when she slips inside, and she uses her magic once more to get the elevator working without assistance. On the descent, she closes her eyes and tries to remember how to breathe.

Regina is _tired_ , but she is not afraid.

Out of the elevator and into the mines, down the various tunnels until she reaches the cliff next to the chasm she’d once push Hook into, and here, Regina pauses. She’s not entirely sure if she’s safe beyond this point, unsure where the path at the bottom of the chasm might lead. She’s traveled the rest of the tunnels in the mines at least once before, enough to know where the various outposts crop up around town. But this -- this is different. This is Regina walking into a trap she’d set up for someone else, and she’s not positive she can get out of here unscathed.

It’s a little reckless, now that she’s thinking about it, but she also knows that she and her former friend are reasonably well-matched. Regina’s had the upper hand by a small margin -- at least until now.

Now, there is a dragon in the skies who has escaped captivity, and the fire in Regina’s veins is very nearly burnt out.

Slowly, she inches her way down the narrow, uneven path along the inside of the chasm, hands bracing against the side of the cliff for purchase. There really isn’t much to hang on to, should she slip or fall, but Regina thinks she has enough of a spark in her veins to save herself, should the occasion arise. It’s quiet down here -- _too quiet_ , her gut tells her, the only sound her footsteps echoing down into the chasm. The farther down she descends, the darker it becomes, and she’s forced to using some of the last of her magical energy to conjure enough fire to light her path.

At the bottom of the chasm, there is nothing but ash.

Slightly perturbed, Regina crouches down and uses the fire in her hand to more closely inspect the ash on the ground for any indication or clues as to which direction to head in. She huffs in annoyance when she can’t find anything, and, irritated, she mindlessly throws some of the fire out of her hand down one end of the chasm.

She’s startled when the fire skips its way along the floor, clearly catching on something before dying out. Curious, she pushes herself to her feet and proceeds a little farther down into the chasm, eyes straining to locate what caught fire.

Phoenix feathers.

Regina swallows hard and keeps walking.

She walks for what feels like a very long time -- it must be at least a few miles, and she finds herself grateful that she’d chosen to wear boots instead of heels today. The path along the bottom of the chasm isn’t exactly even, and when it opens up into another maze of tunnels, Regina nearly twists her ankle twice on obnoxiously large pebbles. The phoenix feathers turn into dragon scales, the pebbles into rocks. Eventually, Regina is able to extinguish the fire in her hand and follow the dim light that starts to flood the tunnel she’s traveled. The brighter it gets, the more debris there is on the ground, and pretty soon Regina is having to clamber her way over fairly large boulders just to continue down the path.

When she emerges from the tunnel, it’s nearly dusk, and the light starts to fade.

In front of her is a lakeside mansion not dissimilar to her own, though perhaps a little more grand and more expansive property.

She’s never seen it before.

She hadn’t even known it existed, to be quite honest, and she wonders, briefly, if she’s still within the town line. But there is fire in her hands and ache in her bones, so she _must_ still be in Storybrooke. And it’s a good thing -- it is, because she’s still got her magic which means that she’s still got a way out of this admittedly reckless plan. But it’s also not a good thing, because it means that the dragon is still inside of the town line, which means the general population is still in danger.

Her bones still ache, and the fire she tries to summon flickers and fades.

She needs time.

The windows of the mansion flood the lawn with orange light, and Regina forgets how to breathe.

She is tired and unafraid and not nearly angry enough, but she is also… wary. She knows who she seeks, knows who is probably taking up residence in that mansion right now, and, well. What she said to Emma well over a year ago still holds true: the person on the other side of that door is not going to want to see or speak to Regina at all. It’s perfectly reasonable, given what Regna has done, and it’s almost enough to give her pause and make her turn around.

And it’s that -- the realization that Regina would _have_ to walk back, walk back to smoke and ash and scarred skin -- which gives Regina enough reason to stay.

One deep breath, and Regina moves forward.

She doesn’t bother knocking when she gets to the front door. She’s fairly certain her former friend is alone within these walls, and Regina figures that the building isn’t large enough to house her friend’s dragon form. The orange light comes from the flames of lit candles all throughout the space. The inside of the mansion is surprisingly empty, leaves and dirt and branches littering the floor where furniture would ordinarily be stationed. The windows are covered in dust and grime, and it occurs to Regina that this place has been left in neglect for a very long time.

Regina shivers and tries not to feel guilty.

She’s careful to keep quiet as she maneuvers around the candles on the floor, ears straining as she investigates some of the adjourning rooms. She’s met with more of the same, though, and she doesn’t hear a sound beyond her own reticent footsteps until she reemerges into the grand foyer.

“Hello, _darling_.”

Regina spins on the spot, startled, and finds the source of the voice lounging comfortably on the stairs adorned in a cloak made of feathers. “Hello, Mal.”

“I was wondering how long it would take you to find me,” Maleficent drawls, sounding a little bored.

Regina knows her better than that, knows that Maleficent is just as careful as she used to be -- deliberate in every word and action and delivery. It’s something Regina’s been a little out of practice with, lately -- since they’d come back to Storybrooke from the Enchanted Forest a second time. She’s not sure if it’s too late to try slipping back into her facade, not sure if it’ll have any effect. Maleficent has always been able to read people and situations fairly quickly, and even after thirty years in captivity, Regina’s sure that hasn’t changed.

“It wasn’t all that difficult, really,” Regina throws back dryly, adjusting her posture slightly. “I just followed the little trail you left behind.” A beat, and then, “How did you manage that, by the way?”

Maleficent lets out a half-amused snort of derision. “Always so transparent,” she mutters. “That’s not really any of your concern, now, is it?”

Regina’s jaw twitches in annoyance, and she rolls her shoulders back to give herself height. “It is when you decide to set my town on fire as a result.”

Another amused sound and Regina finds herself feeling much younger than she actually is; it’s not just Maleficent under her skin but Cora and Zelena and _him_. Maleficent sits up a little, just barely, but it’s enough to set Regina on edge. “You’re not a queen any more, darling. Not here.” It’s a very thinly veiled threat, but Regina can hear it all the same. And she knows that it shows, because Maleficent relaxes back into her former position, clearly satisfied. “After spending three decades underground, I thought I should see the town. Stretch my wings a little bit.”

Maleficent is angry -- that much is obvious, and Regina is not naive or stupid enough to have expected otherwise. But Regina also knows that she has cards to play, and the anger in Maleficent’s veins is palpable enough that Regina feels the fire start to thrum in her own again. She’s not quite sure where this encounter is going to end up, but as long as she as her magic, she’s confident that she can get herself out of whatever mess evolves. She just needs more time. So she clings to Maleficent’s anger and keeps talking. “Kind of hard to do some sight-seeing when you’re busy burning everything in sight,” Regina throws back, weaving her way through the candles on the ground again. “And -- really, Mal, you should be thanking me.”

That gets Maleficent to sit up a little again, her eyes dangerously narrowed. And Regina’s steps are careful, careful, careful, each move part of their game. “ _Thanking you_?” Maleficent echoes sharply, and her words are like acid on her tongue. “For what? For stealing the curse that brought you here? For imprisoning me in that godforsaken place for thirty years? For taking away my ability to control my shape-shifting -- an ability which, if you remember, _I taught you_?”

Anger, anger, anger, and Regina does her best to conceal her shiver as heat builds underneath her skin. She pauses in her movements and looks at Maleficent directly, now, her expression schooled into something resembling false compassion. “For giving you your wings back,” Regina says, as if it’s obvious. “You _do_ remember that they were taken from you before I cast that curse, yes?” And Regina knows who took them, remembers feeling grateful at the time because it was one less thing she had to worry about when she was preparing to cast the initial Dark Curse. But Regina also doesn’t want to give too much fuel to Maleficent’s fire, especially not over this. She figures Maleficent is plenty angry enough at Aurora right now. “I figured you’d be happy.”

It’s Maleficent who works her jaw this time, and Regina sees the same careful control reflected back at her as Maleficent’s expression shifts into something much more neutral. “A lot of good my wings did me down in that chasm,” she quips, and it is anything but light-hearted. “But don’t worry, darling -- I’ll be happy soon enough.”

Regina swallows and tries not to let it show, resuming her deliberate pacing. “I’m a little surprised you haven’t actually tried to kill me yet,” she muses, hating how close her voice comes to sounding uneven. “But it’s clear you don’t have any interest in catching up, so I’m afraid you’ve lost me. What exactly is it that you want from me?”

Maleficent is on her feet faster than Regina can even begin to process, and by the time Regina halts her steps, Maleficent’s fingers are already on Regina’s chin, forcing eye contact. “Oh darling,” she says, soft and full of malice, “I want to see you _suffer_.”

Fire sparks in Regina’s veins and she cannot breathe -- she cannot _run_.

“Mal,” Regina says, not bothering to try and conceal the quiver in her voice, “revenge isn’t a beginning -- it’s an end.”

Something shifts in Maleficent’s eyes, then, but Regina can only see the fire that burns behind them. Maleficent is quiet for a long moment before she reaches up her free hand and lightly drags her nails along the column of Regina’s throat. “You _have_ gone soft,” Maleficent murmurs, sounding a little too delighted at the prospect. “Turning a new leaf, trying to be a leader -- all things you’ve picked up from your _charming_ stepdaughter, no doubt.”

Regina reaches up a hand to grab Maleficent’s roughly, bringing an end to dark drag of her nails. “My son, actually,” Regina say sharply, and it takes everything in her not to ignite flames. Fire won’t help her, here. “And you’re right -- I’m not the same person I was when I cast that curse, Mal. You should be glad. I wouldn’t be here trying to apologize if I hadn’t changed.”

Maleficent’s eyes darken. “You think saying _I’m sorry_ is going to be enough to get me to back off?”

The fire quiets in Regina’s veins, and it’s Henry she thinks of as she swallows her pride and keeps her touch gentle as she removes Maleficent’s hands from her skin. “No,” Regina admits quietly, “but I’m doing it anyway.”

“It’s not like you to try and play the _hero_ , darling,” Maleficent says, voice dripping with disdain.

And it’s Zelena all over again -- _so now you’re a hero?_ \-- and Snow -- _you are not all evil_ \-- and Mother and _him_ and Regina is _exhausted_. She is tired of people telling her what she can and can’t be, tired of people pulling her strings, tired of the burden that blood and bonds and benevolence bring to her soul. She is tired of being unable to cut the ties that bind her to these people. But Regina thinks of the ties she has left, the ones that are fragile and mending and new. She thinks of Henry and Snow and Robin and even Emma, and the fire in her veins sparks with light.

Love had always meant weakness, before.

Regina would not be the most resilient without it.

Regina’s fingers tighten around Maleficent’s hands. “Thirty years is a long time, Mal,” she says, and her voice shakes and she is _tired_ but she is beyond her anger, now. “I got a second chance. I want you to have the same. Evil isn’t born -- it’s made.”

“How poetic,” Maleficent says dully. “What you fail to realize is that people don’t change, no matter how much you might wish it. You can’t be unmade. Bonds can’t be broken -- especially those born out of magic.”

“So what -- you think I’m bound to my villainy?” Regina asks, unable to keep the derisive tone out of her voice.

“I think so long as you are bound to darkness, you’re a liability,” Maleficent elaborates, and it doesn’t make any sense but Regina knows she won’t get any answers if she pries further. The tension in the air around them is palpable in the silence, candlelight casting shadows against Maleficent’s face as she leans in a little closer, her lips only a breath away. “And you are a _fool_ , Regina,” she says darkly, “if you think this is just about _you_.”

Regina goes cold.

She’s a means to an end.

Again.

“Why take your sweet time, then?” Regina says, voice dangerously low, and the fire in her veins is dark and light and _both_. “Why not just get me out of the way now?”

Maleficent grins, her nails digging in painfully against the skin of Regina’s palm. “Thirty years is a long time, darling,” she parrots. “I told you -- I want to see you suffer. And since you seem to think you’ve changed so much,” she adds, angling her head until her lips are ghosting over Regina’s ear, “I’m going to take great _pleasure_ in cutting you off at the knees.”

And that’s it -- it’s the last straw, and Regina has no option but to run, now, and it doesn’t matter if she can breathe because _this isn’t just about her_. She tries to yank her hands away, tries to call up the magic in her veins to assist her, but Maleficent holds tight and pulls Regina against her.

There is fire in her eyes.

“I shall destroy your happiness,” Maleficent says, level and dark, “if it is the last thing I do.”

Dark gives way to light, and Regina leaves monsters and ghosts behind.

She’s unsteady on her feet when she materializes in the middle of Granny’s diner, breath gone from her lungs, and she nearly knocks over a table in an effort to keep herself upright. Vaguely, she’s aware of a glass shattering to pieces on the floor and murmurs of dissent around her, but there’s a gentle hand on her arm almost instantly that helps her settle into a chair. Regina only realizes that her hands are shaking when someone takes them in their own, and it’s only then that Regina manages to pull herself together enough to see the person now kneeling in front of her.

Mulan.

“Regina, what --”

“Aurora,” Regina rasps, pushing Mulan’s hands away and sitting upright a little. “Find Aurora.”

Mulan is to her feet and gone without so much as another breath, but her hands are replaced with another’s.

Henry.

“ _Mom_ ,” he says, careful to keep his voice low, “are you okay?”

Regina nods in assent even if she hasn’t totally managed to pull herself together just yet, her breath coming easier now. She manages to keep one hand steady enough to hook her fingers under Henry’s chin, and she wishes more than anything that she could bring herself to smile right now. “I’m glad you’re here,” she says. “I’m glad you’re safe.”

Henry looks marginally confused at that, but he doesn’t get a chance to press the issue before Mulan is back, Aurora at her heels. Regina turns her attention from Henry to Aurora, her gaze settling on the baby in Aurora’s arms.

Her heart sinks.

“Mulan said you asked for me,” Aurora says, but there’s no urgency to her tone in spite of her quick compliance.

Aurora already knows.

“It’s Maleficent,” Regina announces, voice still sounding rough. “She’s back.”

The entire diner is silent.

Henry’s hand tightens in hers.

“The dragon,” Mulan supplies knowingly. She hesitates for a moment before taking a step toward Aurora and anchors a hand on the small of Aurora’s back. “So what now? What do we do?”

And still, everyone in the diner is dead quiet, watching, waiting, looking to Regina for answers. She’s never been one to be the center of attention, particularly when she’s not in full control and able to put forth her best front. It’s uncomfortable, this collective, weighted gaze. It’s uncomfortable and Regina is _tired_ and unafraid and --

And angry.

She _is_ angry, the fire bubbling and burning beneath the love that behaves as a balm. She’s angry at being used again, angry that her choices keep getting taken from her. She’s angry that she had no choice but to essentially _flee_ , angry because Regina _does not run from monsters_. And whatever Mal -- _Maleficent_ had been to her once, whatever either of them has done in the past, none of it matters, now.

Maleficent is choosing to be the monster she was made to be, and Regina refuses to be one ever again.

Regina looks back to Henry and thinks of Robin, of _love in your eyes_ and page twenty-three and a whole jar full of quarters, of Snow and _you made bad choices but now you’re making good ones_. Slowly, Regina releases her hold on Henry’s chin and concentrates on the magic in her veins, smiling when fire sparks back to life in her hand.

Amidst the dark of night, Regina is light.

“This is _my_ kingdom,” she says, “and I _will_ fight for it.”

* * * * *

Heroes don’t kill.

The fact that Maleficent is still alive after her initial confrontation is proof enough for Rumplestiltskin to believe that Regina is still trying very hard to fight against the darkness.

It also serves as a reminder that Regina still has his dagger, and even though she hasn’t used it against him yet, Rumplestiltskin is still bound to her.

He grows impatient.

He’s a bit tired of the games their recent adversaries have seemed to play in the last couple of years, tired of the waiting and the strategizing. He and Regina are no longer aligned on the same side, and without her strings to pull, Rumplestiltskin had turned his attention and efforts elsewhere. The trouble is that Maleficent seems just as fond of games as those who have come before her. It’s not as if Rumplestiltskin was ignorant of this prior to selecting her for his plans to put Regina out of commission. He’s well aware that Maleficent likes to play with her food. But Regina is -- has always been -- a liability. She has the dagger and she’s well aware of Maleficent’s presence and plans. The longer Maleficent waits to act, the less likely it is that she’ll succeed.

If she wants to cut Regina off at the knees, she has to act _now_.

The house that Maleficent had retreated to upon her escape from the mines sits vacant, now. Rumplestiltskin knows that Maleficent isn’t stupid enough to lie in wait while Regina gathers up an army to help defend and protect the town. Regina’s already sent people to scout and stand guard at the tunnel entrance and around the mansion grounds. Rumplestiltskin had thought it reckless, at first, but he’d soon realized that Regina hadn’t sent them out without protection.

It’s a tad annoying, honestly.

Still, it’s not all that much of an obstacle for Rumplestiltskin to overcome -- especially since his destination isn’t the mansion itself, but the dungeons below it. They’re fairly well-concealed, far enough removed from easy access to the main house and the tunnels that lead back to the mines that they won’t be easily found. It’s a place Rumplestilskin knows Regina hasn’t found, and it’s a place he knows Maleficent is waiting for him.

She’s reclining in a rather uncomfortable looking chair in the center of one of the cells, eyes boring into the glass of a large, oval mirror. Rumplestiltskin hesitates for a brief moment upon the sight of her. The cell is not unlike the one he’d spent his last few months in prior to Regina casting the Dark Curse, the walls adorned with torches lit with dragon fire. It’s enough to make his skin crawl.

He is _angry_.

“I’m not sure how much you think you’ll get accomplished just sitting there, dearie,” he calls out, resuming his trek toward the cell.

A flicker of annoyance passes over her face. “What is that they say about the best laid plans?” she sighs. “I’m merely being observant.”

Rumplestiltskin comes to a halt just outside of the cell. “We don’t have time for you to be observant.”

Maleficent glances over at him and arches an eyebrow. “And I thought you were a patient man.”

He narrows his eyes. “It seems I’ve run out,” he grits out.

She merely looks amused at his frustration. “You _really_ want her out of the way, don’t you?” Maleficent muses. “And you’re still not going to tell me why?”

“Not part of our deal, dearie,” he reminds her. “But I’m willing to offer assistance.”

“In exchange for what?” she asks dryly.

Rumplestiltskin takes a breath for patience. “Let’s just say you owe me a favor later.” At Maleficent’s skeptical expression, he rolls his eyes. “I’d like Regina dealt with in a timely manner. I’m willing to do my part to make that happen.”

“So long as you’re not implicated,” she points out, smiling when he tenses. “You do remember who you’re dealing with, darling?”

“Do _you_?” he asks, careful to keep his voice dangerously low. He may not have his dagger at the moment, but he would not hesitate to ensure that Maleficent’s wings are clipped again if he didn’t actually _need_ her right now. “You do remember that it was I who brought you back? Regina didn’t give you those wings back -- _I did_.”

Slowly, Maleficent’s smile fades, and the flames behind her eyes recede to embers.

Excellent.

Grip tight on the arms of her chair, Maleficent turns her attention back to the mirror. “What do I need to know?”

Rumplestiltskin grins. “A few reminders, for one. You know as well as I do that people are creatures of habit.”

“And?”

“And while Regina may be alert and on guard, not everyone else will be. People will make mistakes,” he ensures.

“That sounds an awful lot like you telling me to be observant,” she says, sounding half-amused, half-irritated.

“You’ve been lurking down here for two weeks,” he points out. “Forgive me if I find your observation skills a little… lacking.” She seems more irritated than anything else, now, but she stays silent. “About Aurora --”

Maleficent snaps her head over to look at him so quickly that he very nearly jerks away. “Do not tell me I’m not allowed to touch her,” she grits out, knuckles turning white.

Rumplestiltskin holds his hands up in defense. “Do what you will with her,” he says, indifferent. “I took care of that impotent little husband of hers for you. I wouldn’t begrudge you your vengeance there.”

“Then what about her?” Maleficent asks sharply, eyes narrowed.

“She has a child,” Rumplestiltskin informs her.

“How is that helpful?” she snaps, clearly losing patience.

“Because she has sacrificed for love before,” he reminds her. “Understanding what a parent will do for a child is going to make this both quick and painful.”

A beat as the information sinks in, and then all of Maleficent’s features are relaxing in realization. “Regina has a child.”

“That she does,” he says, treading carefully. “He’s also my grandson.”

Maleficent’s jaw works in clear frustration as she surveys him. “Meaning?”

“Meaning you can use Henry to get Regina to take that curse, but you are not allowed to harm or alter him,” Rumplestiltskin says. “Regina won’t agree to your terms if Henry is harmed. Have I made myself clear?”

Maleficent flexes her fingers and glances over at the mirror briefly before turning her body in his direction. “I already knew about her son,” she says, and Rumplestiltskin is not sure if she’s referring to Aurora or Regina, but it hardly matters. “The information you’ve given me so far is useless, as far as I’m concerned,” she sighs, inspecting her nails.

Rumplestiltskin takes a step closer and leans against the bars of the cell, glancing at her handiwork. “How would you like a guarantee?” Maleficent arches an eyebrow in silent question. “A guarantee that once she’s out of the way, she’ll stay that way?”

Maleficent looks skeptical. “You have a way to ensure that Regina won’t wake up? Forgive me, but somehow I find that hard to believe.”

He shrugs, fingers dancing along the long columns of spikes that comprise the cell doors. “You’ll already be separating her from her son,” he points out. “Believe it or not, that’s actually rather important.”

“Because she loves him?” Maleficent garners. “How… precious.”

“Because the love she bears for her son has given her the ability to break a curse the same way this one needs to be broken,” he says in a clipped tone. “Love is weakness, dearie, and you can certainly use that against her, but it’s not enough.”

Her brow knits in confusion, but her words betray her understanding. “She loves another.”

Rumplestiltskin smiles. “I trust you remember the thief who broke into both your castle and mine?”

The color drains from Maleficent’s face, and she’s forced to take a deep, measured breath to compose herself. Smoke spirals out of her nostrils as she exhales, and Rumplestiltskin could almost laugh, this is so easy. “The Evil Queen and the Prince of Thieves?” she drawls, clearly still trying to contain her rage. “How…”

“Quaint?” he offers.

“I was going to say pedestrian,” she counters, but the color starts to return to her face. “I’m assuming you have a suggestion as to how I can use him to --” She stops speaking abruptly, understanding dawning on her face, and the resulting smile she gives him reminds him a little too much of Regina. “He has a child,” she guesses.

“A son,” he confirms, pushing himself into an upright position again. “I figured that would play into your love of dramatic irony.”

“True,” she hums, almost laughing. “I do love my theatrics. Makes things much more fun that way.”

Rumplestiltskin fights the urge to roll his eyes. “I trust this will speed things along, then? You have what you need?”

Maleficent leans back in her chair again, surveying him curiously. “I could use some help locating the ingredients for the curse,” she allows, smirking. “Ingredients like that are hard to come by, after all.”

The request irritates him because he can’t refuse her and she _knows_ that. “In the woods, there is a farmhouse,” he tells her, doing his best not to picture it himself. “It stands alone. On the second floor, there is a vanity with an array of various ingredients. Ignore them. In one of the drawers, there is a hair pin. The tip of it is coated in a dark substance -- _that_ is the curse you’ll require.”

“A sleeping curse is a pretty dangerous thing to leave lying around,” Maleficent muses. “Anyone we should be concerned about?”

“Not any more,” Rumplestiltskin assures her, grinning. “But I think you’ll be happy to know that the curse you’ll be retrieving wasn’t made by the person who last had it in their possession.”

“Oh?”

“Regina was the one who made it.”

Maleficent laughs, loud and resounding and very nearly _happy_. “Incredibly ironic,” she scoffs. “Regina made her bed.”

“And now she’ll get to sleep in it.”

* * * * *

It’s been a month, and Aurora’s love is buried beneath the ground.

And still it -- _she_ rises with the dawn.

Mornings in Storybrooke are quiet at this early hour, she’s come to notice. Most of the residents tend not to wake until after the sun has risen over the horizon in the east. Aurora is an early riser -- she always has been. Daylight breathes life into her skin and bones, and, well.

Aurora is not always fond of sleep.

Sleep has been erratically elusive since Phillip’s passing. It’s harder for her to fall asleep without him, too difficult to let herself be that vulnerable. But she also has a child to love and care for, and when push comes to shove, Aurora will sleep for hours on end.

On those nights, she goes deep, and the fire in her dreams threatens to burn again.

In the mornings, the dawn precedes her, and Mulan’s voice is there to comfort her.

It’s on those mornings -- ones like today -- that Aurora feels guilt gnaw away at her, and she’s come to postpone breakfast in favor of making the trip to the cemetery. Today, the sun burns warmer than it has all summer, and Aurora feels stifled. Mulan is with her, as she has been since her arrival in Storybrooke, and she’s the one to hold the baby while Aurora’s petals bleed into the ground.

(And Aurora has not called her child by his name for a full month. For now, he is _my son_ and _my sweet boy_ and _my little prince_ until she can speak his name without pain clawing at her throat.)

Today, Aurora cannot breathe through the pain, and Mulan’s faithful presence is suffocating. “Mulan,” she murmurs from her place on the ground, knees tucked against grass and soil, “can you -- would you give me a moment alone, please?”

Aurora doesn’t have to look at Mulan to sense her apprehension at the request. “You know it’s not safe for you to be alone right now.”

“I know,” Aurora allows. “You don’t have to go far. I just -- I just need a minute, with him. Please.”

Mulan is silent for a long moment before she replies. “A moment,” she agrees, hesitation clear in her voice. “We’ll be just beyond those trees, okay?”

Aurora nods in acknowledgement, and she waits a moment before glancing over her shoulder to make sure Mulan is out of earshot. Satisfied, Aurora turns her attention back to the grave marker in front of her and reaches out a tentative hand. Her fingertips graze against stone as she exhales, guilt unfurling in the air. “My love,” she breathes, “I’m _sorry_.” And they are words she has carried with her the month complete, words she will own up to but wishes she didn’t have to say. “I was halfway gone before I’d realized I’d begun,” she confesses. Her fingers twitch against the headstone as she fights the urge to look over her shoulder again. “I never wanted this for you. I tried to save you from this so many times.”

“It seems the efforts were all in vain.”

Startled, Aurora jerks her hand away and turns slightly on the ground, inhaling sharply when she catches sight of Maleficent. Maleficent doesn’t give her the chance to do more than take breath, though, before she’s closing the distance between them and forcing a hand over Aurora’s mouth to keep her quiet. “Scream,” Maleficent whispers. “I _dare_ you.” Slowly, Aurora follows Maleficent’s gaze over to the clearing just beyond the trees where Mulan is singing to the baby, back facing them. “Scream,” Maleficent murmurs again, “and I will make sure that child never has the opportunity to live up to the namesake his sorry excuse for a father left behind.”

Aurora swallows hard, the situation feeling all too familiar. Love is sacrifice -- this Aurora knows better than most -- and this time, there is no one to wake her from her dreams. Unable to keep from trembling slightly, Aurora shifts her gaze back to Maleficent and takes a measured breath behind the hand that silences her.

It’s all the answer Maleficent needs, and in a cloud of smoke, Aurora is wrapped in wings and gone.

This will be her last dawn.

* * * * *

Regina is at a loss.

She’s spent the last two weeks trying to be -- as Maleficent had so spitefully put it -- a leader. She’s been trying to be proactive about protecting the town and the people. She’s spent her time maintaining both offensive and defensive strategies, trying to prepare for multiple scenarios. She’s tried to make everyone be as alert and aware as she’s been trying to be for the last two weeks, but it hasn’t been an easy task. The people are lost in the midst of chaos, like sheep that need to be herded, and if Regina hadn’t already committed to doing this herself, she’d push off some of these responsibilities to Mary Margaret.

As it is, Regina hasn’t been able to bring herself to do that yet. So instead, she’s left shouldering the weight of orchestrating people and plans.The town is slowly starting to rebuild after the initial dragon attack. There are scouts and soldiers and guards and escorts, firefighters and healers and caretakers. No one is allowed to venture off alone. Curfews are firmly in place and enforced. Children are supervised by adults, which is apparently cramping the style of summer vacation, but Regina can’t find it in her to care about childish complaints right now. Scouts and guards regularly keep an eye on the lakeside mansion where Regina had found Maleficent.

And yet… nothing.

 _Nothing_ has occurred since Regina escaped Maleficent’s clutches two weeks ago, and Regina is starting to grow anxious. Maleficent has long since disappeared from the abandoned mansion, but none of the scouts Regina has sent out have turned up any clues or information as to where Maleficent might have gone. And Maleficent, for her part, has remained silent and well-concealed. She hasn’t launched another attack on the town, hasn’t taken to taunting Regina or stalking Aurora or anything of the sort. It’s frustrating in a way Regina hasn’t felt in a long time, annoyance at being unable to read her adversary. She _knows_ Maleficent, knows how she thinks and operates and the games she likes to play. Regina knows that Maleficent wants to see her suffer. She knows that Aurora is a target. But none of that is happening, at least not yet, and Regina wonders if thirty years underground has altered Maleficent’s mind.

If Maleficent’s going mad, Regina is _screwed_.

So now Regina finds herself drowning in blueprints and land claims and paperwork, rolls and piles she’d brought from the mayor’s office to her home in her attempt to grasp at straws. Currently, she’s got the blueprints for the lakeside mansion unfurled across her dining room table, the corners weighted down. It’d taken her forever to even _find_ the documents; for a while, she wondered if they even existed. But she had found them, buried behind dust and cobwebs and spiders, and she wasn’t all that surprised to find edges of the paper burned. There’s nothing in the first set of blueprints that she hasn’t already seen or had reports of, though, and she’s just about to move on to the second set of blueprints when there’s a loud, insistent knock on her front door.

Mulan is on the other side when Regina opens the door, baby in her arms, and the distressed look on her face tells Regina all she needs to know.

Aurora is gone, which can only mean one thing -- Maleficent is on the move.

* * * * *

Robin is different in Storybrooke.

At his core, he is the same as he ever was -- someone who values people over possessions and fumbles his way between broken codes and lawlessness. But he has changed much, with time and age, and Storybrooke is not entirely to blame for all of those changes. He’d never been one for the life of nobility he’d been born into, too selfish and rebellious and abhorrent of the games and tactics that treated people as objects. But he’d never entirely been settled in his role as the Prince of Thieves, either. He’d had his fun, to be sure, and he’d felt more in his skin during that time than he ever had growing up. But he was still so _young_ , and in spite of the changes Marian brought about, Robin thinks he was still too fond of drink and debauchery and daydreams. He never would’ve admitted it to himself at the time, but he thinks he’d carried too much of his upbringing with him during that time -- selfish and playful and treating nobility like undeserving toys.

And then Marian had died -- or at least he thought she had, at the time -- and Robin had nearly lost himself in drink until Little John had knocked some sense back in him and told him to pull himself together and be a real man for his son.

Roland had saved him.

And Robin has spent every waking moment since trying to be a better father to his son than his own father ever was to him. Robin had taken much more stock in what he’d been espousing for years, had lived by his own code so rigorously that his view of the world started to separate into distinct blacks and whites rather than shades of morally gray. Steal from the rich, give to the poor. Be truthful, righteous, and good. Do not mess about with magic.

And then he’d met Regina, and suddenly the world wasn’t black or white or gray -- it was color.

In the last year and a half, Robin has changed. In many ways, he is still the same. He prefers not to treat people as possessions. The habits of his occupation are still ingrained into him; he thinks they probably always will be. He still looks for things to have purpose. He still believes in doing the right thing. He still does his best to set a good example for his son. But there is much about Robin that is different, now. The right thing isn’t always as cut and dry as he’s previously made them out to be. He hesitates before judging people based on their circumstance. He is not the only parent Roland has any more. And -- perhaps most importantly -- Robin has learned that magic is not as inherently bad as he’d thought it to be. It’s not as if he’s always thought that magic was entirely evil, exactly. He’d gone the extra mile to procure the wand that had saved Marian’s life when she was pregnant and ill, after all. But he’d also learned a lot from that experience, most notably that magic always comes with a price. And for a very long time, Robin thought that the cost of using that wand was Marian’s life -- hers in exchange for their son’s. Now, Robin knows better. Magic is as what people choose to do with it, and Regina’s shades of dark and light are beyond proof of that.

Roland has changed, too. Part of it, Robin knows, is merely the fact that he’s growing older. He’s more observant and aware, able to retain information and learn in ways he hasn’t been able to before. He’ll start school, come fall, and the mere thought is enough to make Robin’s bones ache with anxiety. It’s why Robin’s been devoted to spending as much time with him this summer as he can, though he’s reluctant to admit it. Maleficent’s return has given him an excuse to keep Roland close, but he wouldn’t admit that aloud, either.

Deep down, Robin feels guilty.

He knows it’s not unusual to have mixed feelings about children growing up, but there’s something about this that feels… different. Robin knows that much of who he is has been rooted in the person he has tried very hard to be for his son. The older Roland gets, the less Robin is needed, and Robin feels like the pieces of him are slowly starting to scatter and fade. Life feels unstable at the moment, on the precipice of more change, and the realization that Robin is not only unprepared for it but loathe for it to occur makes him feel uncomfortably young again.

Shattered Sight is still fresh in his mind, an untended wound.

So he does his best to focus on the good that anchors him to the present. Life in Storybrooke is at least generally comfortable, if chaotic (and Robin is starting to realize that it will probably always _be_ chaotic, if the constant revolving door of villainous people is any indication). The town is slowly starting to rebuild after Maleficent’s initial attack, which gives his men additional purpose. Marian is… adjusting, albeit slowly, though he doesn’t blame her. Their divorce is nearly final. Regina is… frazzled and on edge, understandably so, but she is also warm and inviting and longs for his company. Roland is safe and happy and healthy, and Storybrooke suits him well.

Today -- the warmest day of the summer by far -- finds them trapaising the woods not far from camp. Roland is a ball of energy today in spite of the heat, and Robin’s spent the better part of the last hour following his son as he clambers his way onto the trunks of fallen trees and chases all manner of creatures into their hiding places. The quiet of the forest is uninterrupted until Robin’s phone starts to ring in his pocket, and he fumbles for it awkwardly while trying to keep an eye on his son, who is skirting the lower branches of a tree.

Robin smiles when he sees Regina’s name. “Hello,” he greets warmly. “I wasn’t expecting to hear from you until --”

“Break camp,” she instructs sharply, interrupting him. “Break camp and take your men to the town hall for the time being.”

Robin’s brow furrows in confusion and concern, momentarily distracted from his careful observance of Roland’s activities. “I’ll head back there in a minute,” he promises. “What’s happening?”

“I’m not sure,” Regina admits. “Aurora’s missing, which means Maleficent is up to something. It’s probably not safe in the woods right now.”

Robin’s chest tightens. “Is Mulan --”

“She’s here,” Regina assures him. “She’s here with the baby.”

Robin exhales and swallows, trying to collect himself. “Do you want me to come over, after the men get settled?”

“ _Please_ ,” Regina breathes. “I’ll feel better knowing you’re close by. Once I have a better idea of what’s going on, I’ll let you know if I need your help.”

Robin’s mouth twitches into an almost-smile. “No you won’t,” he murmurs. “You won’t, and then I’ll try and find a way to help anyway, and then you’ll get mad at me for that.”

Regina’s answering sigh is laden with exasperation. “I don’t have time to argue with you right now. Break camp. Make sure your men and your family are safe. Then get over here and we can argue about whether or not you get in my way.”

“Is it really getting in your way if you ask me to be there --”

“ _Robin._ ”

“Breathe, darling,” he laughs, hoping she’ll relax at least a little. “I’ll be there soon.”

He’s barely hung up the phone and dropped it back into his pocket when Roland’s voice calls out to him. “Daddy, help!”

Alarmed again, Robin turns his attention back to the tree Roland had been climbing a few moments ago. He’s a little startled to see how high his son has managed to climb, and he’s more than a little exasperated to find his son hanging precariously off of a too-thin branch just far away enough from the trunk to render him helpless. “What did we talk about?” he sighs, moving toward the tree and situating himself beneath his dangling son. “You are neither squirrel nor bird nor monkey, my boy. You know better than to climb that high or that far out.”

It’s clear that Robin’s reprimand goes in one ear and out the other. “My arms hurt,” Roland whines, feet kicking in the air. “I’m scared to fall.”

Robin softens a little and holds his arms out encouragingly. “Let go then,” he prompts, bracing himself. “I promise I’ll catch you.”

And there’s absolutely no hesitation in Roland’s trusting compliance as he releases his hold on the branch and plummets down toward Robin’s arms. The fall is almost graceful, really, extraordinarily bird-like, and he hasn’t quite reached Robin when something in his expression starts to shift and change.

Their bodies collide, and Robin closes his eyes against a cloud of smoke.

The ground is much harder than he was expecting it to be when his back makes contact with the it, and he very nearly bashes the back of his head against the edge of a too-sharp rock. Belatedly, he realizes that he’s missing the weight of his son against him, and by the time Robin opens his eyes to search for Roland, it’s too late.

This is not the forest.

Bewildered, he sits up and glances around, heart hammering as he tries to find his son.

This is a jail cell.

He’s in a dungeon.

On his knees, Robin looks up to find a dragon smiling down at him.

* * * * *

It’s barely an hour before there’s another insistent knock at Regina’s front door, and Robin’s voice is still ringing in her ears.

The sight of Marian trying to soothe a sobbing Roland is enough to knock the wind out of Regina, but it’s not quite enough to bring Regina to her knees.

How in the hell did Maleficent know about Robin?

“Get inside,” Regina instructs thickly, not bothering to give either of them a chance to explain just yet. “It’s not safe out there -- _get inside_ ,” she gasps, tugging at Marian’s arm to get her to comply. She’ll be damned if she lets anything happen to Robin’s family -- or anyone else, for that matter.

She’ll be damned if she lets Maleficent get to her own.

Regina closes the door behind them quickly and clicks the deadbolt into place, grateful that she’d had the foresight to place a protection spell over her property _weeks_ ago. She waves them both in the direction of the living room where Mulan is trying to soothe Aurora’s child, reaching into her back pocket to unearth her phone for the second time in under an hour.

The thirty seconds she spends waiting for the click of an answer are near torture.

“Hey, what --”

“ _Emma_ ,” Regina says, strangled and sure and stupidly scared. “Get Henry.”

* * * * *

It’s only been a couple of weeks since Regina had imposed rules to keep people safe from Maleficent, but Henry’s been going a little stir-crazy. He loves his video games -- he’s _twelve_ \-- but it’s also summer vacation and he’s only been back in Storybrooke for a few months. He doesn’t feel like he’s had a chance to really _settle_ since he’s been back -- since he _remembered_.

So when Grandpa David calls and asks if he's still interested in learning how to be a knight, Henry jumps at the chance to get out of the house. Their routine -- Grandpa David teaching him how to wield a sword and taking extra care in handling animals and politics and how to be brave -- had been short-lived before Henry had been taken to Neverland, but he’s missed it anyway. And Henry thinks that maybe this will help him feel settled, like this is still _home_ , where he belongs.

Plus, being around Mom is kind of stressful at the moment. She’s nervous and on-edge and frazzled and trying very hard not to let it show, which just makes things worse. Henry’s kind of immensely proud of her for the way she’s stepped up and become a real leader again. In a lot of ways, he feels like she’s in her element again, happy to dictate and organize. But he also knows that she’s uncomfortable. He knows she doesn’t like interacting with people if she can help it, but more than that, Henry recognizes something he thinks very few people do.

Mom is scared.

Henry just wants her to be happy.

He feels like he’s hardly gotten a chance to really be around his _mom_ since he remembered, and the constant emergence of villains (or, enemies, rather, because Henry’s starting to realize that labeling people as heroes or villains isn’t exactly simple or fair) has kept Regina’s armor up. And Henry _misses_ her. He misses explaining his comic books to her and kicking her ass at Mario Kart and the day trips to the beach they’d taken together when he was little. He misses his mom -- the person who took care of him when he was sick and taught him how to tie his shoes, the person who wasn’t afraid to let her guard down and give him everything she had.

Mom is scared of loss the same way she always has been, but Henry thinks she has so much more to lose, now.

And, well, Henry is frustrated. He’s frustrated because there’s not a whole lot he can do to help when stuff like this happens. And he knows -- he knows that it’s okay, that being ordinary isn’t a bad thing. Mom had made sure he knew that, considering everything they’ve been through. But he also knows that there’s a reason he has the heart of the truest believer, and more than anything right now, Henry wishes he could find a way to use it to make Mom believe in herself. Instead, he has to wait. He has to wait until Maleficent is dealt with and things start to settle down again before Mom will really start to relax. And while Henry doesn’t know how long that will take, he can try to plan ahead. So it’s something he thinks about while he and Grandpa David groom the horses together after their ride.

He’s only half listening to Grandpa’s stories about his past experiences with Maleficent (because while the dragon thing is still pretty cool to Henry, he’s also heard these stories before) when Grandpa’s phone rings. “Hello?” David greets, brow furrowing a little. “Emma? It’s -- you’re breaking up a little, I didn’t really get any of that.” There’s more of a garbled sound from David’s receiver, causing him to sigh in exasperation. “Hang on, let me move outside to try and get a better signal.” He shifts his phone to the side as he starts to move out of the stall, sparing Henry half a glance. “Stay here,” he instructs, and Henry has to resist the urge to roll his eyes as he waves Grandpa David away to take Emma’s call.

It’s quiet in the stable stall for a few moments except for the soft snorts and nickers from the horse he’s grooming -- a beautiful white animal named Brambles with surprisingly soft hair and a spiral birthmark between the eyes. There’s something wonderfully calming about spending time in the stables with the horses, and with slightly stuttering hands, Henry realizes that he may have found the answer to his problem.

Mom _loves_ horses; she’d grown up around them, trained with them. She’d nearly married a stable boy, for crying out loud. And, yeah, maybe she has some not so great memories of horses and stables (the rescue that had ultimately changed her life, losing Daniel in the stables _twice_ ), but Henry thinks that maybe enough time has passed and things have changed enough for Mom to remember how happy she could be in a place like this. It’s just a matter of getting her foot in the door, and even though everyone’s a little preoccupied right now, Henry starts looking forward.

He wonders how outrageous it would be to ask for his own horse for his birthday this fall. Officially becoming a teenager has to count for something, right?

(Thor is a great name for a horse. A _great_ name.)

The sun starts to dip below the horizon, and Brambles grows restless.

There are shadows on the ground, and when Henry glances up to seek out the source, his heart stutters in his chest.

The stable windows are covered in thorns.

* * * * *

This time, there is no knock to warn Regina of her impending suffering.

The front door _flies_ open as the last light fades from the sky outside, and Regina whirls around in panicked preparation. She’s not worried about an attack here, not with the house protected, but she’s also not accustomed to people just barging into her house.

(The occasions have been far and few between, and it’s almost always one of the Charmings to storm her castle.)

It’s Emma who breaches the threshold, now, every limb _shaking_ with rage. Regina hasn’t seen Emma this angry in a very long time -- not since Henry had fallen victim to a sleeping curse -- and Regina’s gut twists with dread. “Where’s --”

“He’s gone,” Emma says sharply, hands clenching into fists as Hook jogs into the house behind her.

“ _No_ ,” Regina insists heatedly, and it’s not Emma’s fault, Emma is not her enemy. “Children are supposed to be supervised. We’ve taken every precaution to make sure that this didn’t --”

“It’s my fault,” David interjects, bringing up the rear. “Emma called me after you spoke with her. I couldn’t hear her, so I went outside. I swear, I only left him alone for a minute,” he says, an anguished apology, but the rest of his words are lost on Regina’s ears.

Her blood goes cold.

“You _left him alone_?” she seethes, taking a step toward him. “How could you leave him alone? Where were you that you thought that was an okay idea at all?”

“We were at the stables,” David explains. “He was in one of the stalls with one of the horses when Emma called. Regina, I swear there wasn’t anyone else --”

“You were at _the stables_?” she questions, voice low and shaking and she is so, so angry. “Have you _lost_ your mind? Do you remember what happened to him the last time you left him alone there?”

“Regina, that’s not --”

“You left my son alone,” she says again, closing the gap between them and grabbing at his shirt roughly. “You left my son alone when I specifically gave instructions _not to do that_. You left my son alone knowing full well that there’s an incredibly powerful sorceress on the loose with the ability to shapeshift into a _dragon_ \-- a sorceress who, in case you forgot, is out for revenge because of what I did to her. You left my son in the exact same place you did a year and a half ago when he nearly got _killed_ , David.” Another step forward and David stumbles back, eyes cast down to where her hand is fisted in his shirt, and she is so _beyond_ angry.

Regina is _done_.

She has spent the better part of the last year and a half trying very hard to avoid the stables after she’d granted Daniel his mercy death. And she’d hated -- _hated_ herself for finding comfort in the stables when they’d all returned to the Enchanted Forest last spring, hated that she couldn’t find solace and comfort anywhere else, hated that even there she still felt the keen sting of losing Henry. It’s where Robin had nearly kissed her for the first time and he is _gone_ , now, a victim in someone else’s game and Regina hates herself for it, hates it hates it hates it. Aurora is gone and the town is in shambles and Robin is gone and Henry is gone and there is fire beneath her skin and darkness settling in and --

“Regina.”

She glances down sharply at the shaking hand on her arm before looking up to meet its owner’s eyes, and Emma wears all of Regina’s pain.

 _Their_ son.

Regina is not alone in this.

Quickly, Regina releases her hold on David and stumbles backward, heart beating painfully in her chest. With breath caught in her lungs, she sinks down at the foot of the stairs.

She feels like she’s been cut off at the knees.

_Fuck._

“Regina,” David murmurs quietly, kneeling next to her and resting a hand on her knee. “I’m --”

“Don’t,” she whispers, burying her head in her hands. Breathe, she has to breathe, _why can’t she breathe_? Her heart is in her throat and her mind is still stuck in the stables, back to pain and loss and a life she never had. She is eighteen and her hope is dead, thirty-seven and gone again. Thirty-seven and her baby is silent and still and sleeping and it’s her fault, thirty-seven and he has bruises around his neck and burns on his arms. Thirty-seven and he has lost his heart, thirty-seven and she had gotten it back for him, thirty-seven and goodbye. Thirty-eight and he hadn’t remembered her, thirty-eight and her sister had nearly killed him. Thirty-eight and Regina had locked him away because she was afraid that she’d hurt him. Thirty-eight and _the stables_ and he is at the mercy of someone who wants to see her _suffer_.

“We’re not just going to sit here, Regina,” Emma insists, pulling her back to the present. It’s just shy of cold and calculating and Regina can tell that Emma is hanging on by a mere thread. “We have to go after him. We need a plan. We need --”

“ _Stop_ ,” Regina gasps, hunching over a little more. “Please, just… stop. Give me a minute.” A minute to breathe, a minute to think, a minute to very deliberately _not_ grieve.

Her love has been taken from her in its strongest forms, but they are not lost to her -- not yet.

Regina is the most resilient, and she will not give up on them now -- especially since they hadn’t given up on her.

A measured breath to steady herself, and Regina is not queen or mayor or leader, not puppet or pawn.

She is a mother first, a lover second.

She is _angry_ , and she is going to get her love back.

She does not run from monsters.

Lifting her head, Regina blinks blearily as her vision blurs and spots and clears. “I don’t know what she’s going to do to Aurora,” she admits, voice shaking a little. “But Robin and Henry -- she won’t hurt them. Not yet, anyway. She has to know that she’s not going to get to me if anything happens to them.”

Emma visibly relaxes at the realization, even if it’s marginal, but the ebb to calm is enough to give Regina strength. “So what do we do?”

“You go to the mansion,” David calls from the dining room, and Regina hadn’t even realized that he’d left the room during the few moments she’d taken to quell her own panic. Curious and confused, Regina pushes herself to her feet and follows Emma and Hook into the dining room. David is leaning over the table examining the set of blueprints Regina had spread out earlier, his fingers tracing a specific section of the second set. “Regina, did you see this?”

“See what?” she asks, moving to stand next to him.

“In the basement,” he explains, pointing to it on the blueprint. “There’s some sort of exit where the wine cellar is, I think. None of the scouts reported that.”

“That doesn’t make any sense,” Regina murmurs, shifting through the various sets of blueprints to see if there’s a third one she’d previously missed. “Even if it was there, where would it lead to?”

“The mines,” Hook says suddenly, and all of them turn to look at him. “The mines under the library, they lead to that chasm Maleficent was in during the curse.”

“Yes, we know,” Regina snaps dryly. “I took you down there myself, remember?”

“You followed the path along the bottom of the chasm,” Hook points out. “You followed it to the mansion. You said there was another set of tunnels down there you hadn’t explored before.”

“Yeah, tunnels that the scouts still aren’t finished investigating because it’s _dangerous_ ,” David interjects.

“You think one of those tunnels leads to the mansion,” Emma surmises, ignoring her father. “To the wine cellar or the basement or something.”

“We have no way of knowing that for sure,” David starts to argue.

Regina closes her eyes and grips the edge of the dining room table hard. “It’s entirely possible,” she allows quietly, forcing herself to take measured breaths through her nose. “If Maleficent’s using the tunnels, she’s counting on us not knowing them very well. Aurora and Robin might be down there.”

“What about Henry?” Emma asks.

Regina swallows hard. “She took Henry last,” she murmurs. “He’s the insurance policy. She’s banking on being able to use him to get to me.” _I want to see you suffer_ , Maleficent had said, and the ache Regina carries with her is caught up in her heart and soul and lungs.

“So she’ll keep him close by,” Emma deduces. “Where do you think we’ll find her?”

Regina opens her eyes and looks down at the set of blueprints again. “The mansion,” she says, because if Maleficent wants Regina to suffer before getting her out of the way, she’ll want to do it as far away from any helpful resources as possible. The mansion is where Regina had first found her, after the attack on the town, and it’s where Regina is sure she’ll find Maleficent now -- waiting for her with Henry.

Maleficent always was one for dramatic irony.

“Then let’s go,” Emma says, already moving into the living room. David doesn’t look particularly happy about it, but he follows her just as Hook does. Regina lingers in the dining room a moment longer, eyes scanning the table for anything useful. She reaches for an apple in one of the bowls, turning it in her hands as she makes to follow everyone into the living room.

“What’s happening?” Mulan asks, immediately rising to her feet when Regina enters the room. The baby fusses, slightly, and Regina thinks of Henry.

“We’re going after Henry,” Emma announces.

“What about the others?” Marian asks, fingers carding gently through Roland’s hair.

“We have an idea of where they might be,” David says. “We’re going to look for them, too, I promise.”

“No,” Regina says sharply, “you’re not.” David arches an eyebrow at her in silent question, clearly perplexed, but he doesn’t voice an argument. “You stay in town,” she advises. “Go to Mary Margaret. You should both be here for the people in case Maleficent decides to launch another attack on the town. Hold down the fort, David. I think you can manage that.”

“Then let me go instead,” Mulan insists, shifting the baby in her arms. “I’m not going to let anything happen to Aurora. I can help, you _know_ I can.”

Regina hesitates, hands stilling around the apple. Mulan is perfectly capable of taking care of herself. Regina can send her out with protection again. It’s just -- if this goes badly, then the child in Mulan’s arms becomes an orphan with no one to look after him, and the thought does not sit well with Regina at all.

“Let me take the baby,” David offers, before Regina even has a chance to decide. “I’ll take him home and he can stay with me and Mary Margaret and Neal.” Mulan agrees readily, shifting the baby into David’s waiting and careful arms before handing him the diaper bag.

Regina eyes the diaper bag carefully before glancing back down at the apple in her hands. “Mulan,” she says, hands moving carefully around the apple again, “the apple I gave you back in the Enchanted Forest -- is it in that bag?”

“Yes,” Mulan affirms, sounding a little confused. “I carry it with me everywhere. What --”

Regina inhales sharply and turns her attention to David. “Do not lose that apple,” she instructs thinly. “It’ll keep you all safe while we’re gone.” David nods in understanding but doesn’t speak, gratitude clear in his eyes. Regina ignores the twist of guilt for exploding at him earlier and turns her attention back to Mulan. “You can hold onto this one down in the tunnels,” she explains, holding the apple out in offering. “I’m not sure what you’re going to find down there.”

The apple is barely gone from Regina’s hand when Marian speaks again. “And us?”

Regina turns her gaze on Robin’s family, heart stuttering painfully in her chest. “ _Stay here_ ,” she implores. “There’s a protection spell on the house. You’ll be safe as long as you stay here.”

Roland’s voice is small when he speaks up. “You’re leaving?”

Regina swallows around her pain, tears stinging at her eyes as she moves to kneel down in front of them. “We’re going to find your papa,” she says, and she wants so badly to make it a promise. “You need to stay here with your mama, okay?” She leans in closer at Roland’s answering nod, eyes flicking to Marian briefly before pressing a kiss to his forehead.

Marian holds her gaze when Regina pulls away. “Be careful,” Marian says, so softly that Regina almost doesn’t hear her.

Regina pushes herself to her feet and closes her eyes again, Maleficent’s words echoing in her mind. _You are a fool, Regina, if you think this just about you._

It’s not just her love that’s been lost.

Regina clears her throat and opens her eyes, trying desperately to stay focused. “We should get going.”

“Excellent idea,” Hook sighs, already making for the front door.

“ _No_ ,” Regina and Emma bark simultaneously, and Hook halts in his tracks. “You are _absolutely_ not going,” Regina reiterates. “Need I remind you, Hook, what happened the _last time_ you were left unsupervised?”

“The bloody crocodile taking my heart wasn’t my fault,” Hook snaps, clearly irritated.

“You almost _died_ ,” Emma reminds him emphatically.

“So did you!” he retorts, just as heatedly.

“ _Enough_ ,” Regina says sharply, her nerves too frayed to handle their quarrel. “Neither of us is going to be here to save you if your heart ends up in his hands again, Hook. This isn’t about pride or heroics or anything of the sort. This is about _keeping you alive_.”

“So give me one of those bloody apples, then!” Hook argues. “Rumplestiltskin doesn’t even have his dagger now, anyway.”

“The apples only offer so much protection,” Regina counters. “You’re an idiot if you think they’d stop him.”

“So _you_ stop him,” Hook says thinly. “You’re the one with the dagger, Regina.”

“I’m a little _busy_ at the moment, in case you hadn’t noticed,” she says, irate and irritated and she is close to snapping again, nerves shot and heart pounding.

“Okay, stop,” Emma cuts in, stepping between them and facing Hook. “Killian,” she murmurs, taking his face in her hands and forcing him to look at her properly. “Killian, I know you want to help. I know you’re a survivor. But right now, I need you here while we go get Henry.”

“This is ridiculous,” Hook protests, but the heat is gone from his voice. “You get to risk your life, but I don’t get to risk mine?”

“I need you here,” Emma repeats, and her voice drops so low that Regina can hardly hear her any more. “I need you to be here for me when I come home.” Something shifts in Hook’s face, then, and Regina has enough tact to look away when he leans in to meet Emma for a kiss.

Regina’s home is lost to her, and she would do anything to get it back.

Judging from the look on Mulan’s face, Regina thinks Mulan must feel the same.

* * * * *

The moon hangs heavy in the sky by the time the three of them enter the lobby of the library where Belle is waiting for them behind the desk.

Regina pauses as Emma and Mulan head for the elevator, her eyes drifting upward to where she know the clocktower resides. And Regina remembers the _tick-tick-tick_ in the spring every time she’d been up there. She remembers the last time they’d gathered there, Hook’s heart pulsing dangerously in G -- _his_ hand. She remembers the fear of waiting for Shattered Sight to hit. And Regina remembers before that, too, remembers the broken glass and pain and bruises after Zelena had thrown her through the clock’s face.

She remembers where she’d left her heart.

Maleficent is not Zelena, but Regina is not stupid enough to take her chances, not this time, not after their last confrontation. Her heart makes her the most resilient, but Regina is still capable of so much without it.

She has to be.

The elevator doors click open, and Regina turns to face Belle. “I need you to do something for me,” she says quickly, stepping up to the circulation desk.

“Besides stand guard, you mean,” Belle guesses. “Anything I can do to help, Regina.”

Regina nods and exhales shakily, trying not to give too much thought to what she’s about to do. “Good,” she says, far more brightly than she feels, and then her hand is in her chest and pulling out heart. She ignores Belle’s startled gasp and steadfastly doesn’t turn around to face Emma and Mulan. “I need you to hold onto this for me,” Regina says, unable to keep her voice steady in the wake of the loss.

Belle is visibly shaken as she eyes Regina’s heart with absolute wariness and uncertainty. “You would really trust me with something so valuable?”

And it’s Belle, not Robin, _Robin, Robin, Robin_ and Regina’s heart is beating painfully fast in her hands. “You did the same for me,” Regina reminds her, and as unhappy as Regina is to have the dagger in her general possession, she knows that it took a great deal of trust for Belle to give it to her.

Slowly, Belle reaches out and takes Regina’s heart from her hands. “It can’t be controlled,” Belle says carefully, like she’s remembering something. “You protected it from that.”

“I did,” Regina says, knowing Belle’s thinking of their confrontation in the pawnshop back in the spring. “I’m not particularly good at controlling it either,” she quips dryly. At Belle’s confused look, Regina elaborates. “The heart wants what it wants, regardless of how painful it is sometimes.”

There is clear understanding in Belle’s answering smile, and her touch is gentle -- almost reverent -- as she cradles Regina’s heart in her hands. “I’ll keep it safe for you,” Belle promises. “You’ll need it when you get back.”

* * * * *

The path down the mines and along the chasm is long and dark and arduous, and by the time their trio reaches a fork in the path, the strap of Mulan’s satchel is digging painfully into her shoulder. It’s here, Regina informs her, that they have to part ways. The path she and Emma will take is the one Regina had taken before, one they both know leads to the mansion they’re assuming Maleficent is currently holding Henry hostage. The other path is one that opens up into a series of tunnels, and Mulan has to set out on this path with only the possibility of finding anyone.

It’s a chance she is willing -- has _always_ been willing -- to take.

So with one foot in front of the other, Mulan sets off down the dark, dizzying path with a magical torch in hand and searches for her home.

The first tunnel she takes loops back around to the main path along the chasm. The second dead-ends after less than a half-hour of walking. The third drops down into a steep slope that cuts off abruptly, and Mulan has to take great care not to fall down into the dark abyss before she makes her way back up the hill.

The fourth tunnel is the longest yet, winding in corners instead of curves, each turn jarring and difficult to remember. Thankfully, there are no forks in this path, but she’s on it for well over an hour before she happens upon anything of interest. The walls of the tunnel start to look vaguely familiar after a while, and then she notices the torches adorning the walls.

And that’s when she feels it -- _heat_.

She breaks out into a run, chasing warmth and smelling smoke and she can hardly breathe at one point but she doesn’t _care_ because there’s someone down here, there has to be.

She turns one last corner and is met with a long corridor, the torches along the walls lit with what Mulan can only presume is dragon fire. At the end of the tunnel is a cell not unlike the one Cora had trapped them in, back in the Enchanted Forest, and there, curled up on the ground, is Aurora.

Breath caught in her chest, Mulan approaches the cell with the utmost caution, heart beating painfully at the prospect of what she might find. “Aurora?” she prompts, careful to keep her voice quiet. No response, so Mulan moves closer and tries again, raising her voice a little. “Aurora?” There’s a slight wrinkle in Aurora’s nose as Mulan’s voice rings out in the tunnel, and regardless of what happens next, Mulan feels like she can breathe again. Aurora is _alive_. “Aurora, wake up!” Mulan urges, moving up to the bars of the cell to examine them.

Aurora inhales sharply as she wakes, clearly uncomfortable and disoriented, and it takes her a moment of blinking around blearily before her eyes adjust and her gaze settles on Mulan. The look of sheer surprise on Aurora’s face isn’t enough to distract Mulan from her study of the cell as she tries to find a way to get Aurora ou of her. “ _Mulan_ ,” Aurora breathes, sitting up and grasping at the bars of the cell. “How did you --”

“How isn’t important right now,” Mulan dismisses, crossing from one end of the barrier of bars to the other.

Aurora is quiet for a moment before she rises up onto her knees, adjusting her grip on the bars. “Phillip,” she says quietly. “My baby, is he --”

“He’s safe,” Mulan assures her, frustration mounting as she starts to realize that the bars of the cell are just as well designed as the ones in the Enchanted Forest had been. “Snow and David have him. They’re still back in town.”

More silence, and just as Mulan is about to give up on finding a more conventional way of getting Aurora out of here, Aurora speaks again, her hands slack against the bars of the cell. “You came after me.”

Mulan stops in her tracks and meets Aurora’s eyes. “Of course I came after you,” she says. “I wasn’t just going to --” She stops, swallows, tries not to think about what Maleficent has in store for Aurora after years of bitterness and spite. “Look, we’ve got to get you out of here. I don’t think I can pry the bars apart or pull them out of the ground, but --”

“Mulan,” Aurora says gently, reaching for her hand. “You can’t.”

Mulan does her best to ignore the spark that shoots up her arm at Aurora’s touch. “There _has_ to be a way to get you out of here,” she insists.

“There _is_ ,” Aurora says thickly, and her voice is thick with the onslaught of tears. “But you cannot help me, Mulan.”

“You don’t know that,” Mulan argues, fighting to keep her composure. “Just -- tell me. Tell me what has to be done and I will _find a way_ to get you out of here.”

Aurora bites her lip in indecision before inhaling sharply, tears spilling onto her cheeks. “Maleficent cast an enchantment on the bars of the cell,” she explains, dropping her gaze. “Only an act of true love can break it.” Eyes closed and Aurora takes a gasping breath, her hand starting to shake in Mulan’s gasp. “Phillip is dead, Mulan. I’m never getting out of here.” Eyes back up and locked with Mulan’s and there is guilt on Aurora’s shoulders, resignation in her tone. “She wins.”

Mulan purses her lips and shakes her head, composure slipping. It’s not -- she can’t just _give up_ like this, not when she’s come this far, not when Aurora’s hand is in hers and her heart still beats and there is breath in her lungs. Mulan’s love lives and breathes and she will not let it die, not like this. She trains her eyes at where their hands are joined through the bars, and all at once, Mulan remembers.

The wraith.

She remembers watching Phillip’s soul get sucked from his body, remembers Aurora’s heart being taken from her. Mulan remembers going to great lengths to retrieve Aurora’s heart for her, remembers being the one to put it back. And perhaps most importantly, Mulan remembers where their journey had taken them after, across the Enchanted Forest on a quest to retrieve Phillip’s soul. She remembers the blood Aurora had sacrificed as payment, remembers why it had worked.

Aurora’s oath was bound by blood and devotion, and her love had been true.

Eyes falling to her satchel and heart beating too-fast, Mulan knows what she has to do.

Quickly, she lets go of Aurora’s hand and digs around in her satchel, searching. “What are you doing?” Aurora asks, distracted as she tries to wipe the tears from her eyes.

“Getting you out of here,” Mulan says by way of answer, and her hand finally encloses around the object she’s been looking for.

Aurora’s eyes widen at the sight of the dagger in Mulan’s hands. “What are you going to do with that?”

Mulan takes a breath to steady herself and forces herself to meet Aurora’s eyes. “I’m going to follow your example,” she says, surprised at how quiet her voice has become, “and be brave.”

And before she can think too much about the impending pain, Mulan lifts the dagger in one hand and slices open the skin of the other.

She can’t help the pained cry that escapes her, but she finds herself grateful for her bravery in weakness because her scream drowns out Aurora’s gasping protest. Blinded by her pain for a moment, Mulan drops the dagger on the ground with an echoing clatter. Her hand is _throbbing_ and it stings and there is blood _everywhere_ and still it is not the worst pain Mulan has ever felt. She’ll live through this. Her wound will heal.

Aurora will be free.

It takes everything in Mulan to concentrate on the task at hand, and in one swift movement, Mulan lifts her injured hand and grips one of the bars of the cell tight.

Her skin _burns_.

Another cry of pain and Aurora is calling her name and still Mulan doesn’t let go, not until the bars start to rust and fade and leave an opening. Mulan’s hand falls away once the bar she’d been clinging to disappears and, satisfied, she curls forward and clutches her injured hand against her tight to ward against the pain.

Everything is a haze for a long few moments. Mulan’s aware of a few things -- Aurora’s hands on her skin, her arms; the soothing balm of water being poured over her hands; the soft, frayed edges of cloth being wrapped tightly around her wounded hand. It’s not until there’s water cascading past her lips and fingers carding through her hair that Mulan manages to pull herself together.

Aurora holds her close, and Mulan’s love is free.

They’re both unnervingly quiet until Mulan manages to sit up on her own again, but neither of them looks away. “You broke the spell,” Aurora says.

Mulan moistens her lips and looks down at her knees. “I told you I would find a way.”

“You injured yourself,” Aurora points out, and there’s the barest hint of indignation beneath her tone.

“I paid a sacrifice,” Mulan argues, “same as you.” And it’s quiet, quiet, quiet as the words sink in and Mulan’s meaning becomes plain.

“You love me.”

Mulan squeezes her eyes shut, pain pulsing her hand. “You’re free,” Mulan says, because it’s all she can bring herself to say. Inhaling sharply, she forces her eyes open and struggles to rise to her feet. “We should get out of here,” she advises. “Robin is probably down here somewhere, and then we really need to --”

“You love me,” Aurora says again, reaching for Mulan’s uninjured hand. Mulan settles back down on the ground and doesn’t pull away, but she cannot bring herself to look Aurora in the eye. “You love me, and you would not be so eager to drop the subject if it were merely the love of a friend or a sister.” And Mulan’s heart is in her _throat_ and she cannot, will not cry, not here, not now. Her love is not lost, and that is all that matters. “Mulan,” Aurora says firmly, and it is clear that it is not the first time she’s said it. “ _Look at me_.”

It takes _everything_ Mulan has in her to oblige the request. And this -- this is Aurora. This is Mulan’s love and life and home. This is Mulan’s pain in the ache of losing her love to another. This is Aurora who bore a son, a child whom Mulan has come to love in the short couple of months she’s known him. This is Aurora, Aurora whom Mulan has fought for with a prince who lies dead in the ground, Aurora for whom Mulan has crossed vast lands and traveled between realms. This is the pain in Mulan’s hand and the ache she has carried with her and the hope that has kept her alive.

This is Mulan’s heart breaking, and she cannot find it in her to _care_.

“Phillip is dead because of me,” Aurora whispers, and the guilt is back in her eyes but her hand is clutching Mulan’s tight.

And all at once, Mulan _understands_.

Aurora had made a promise when she’d made her sacrifice for Phillip’s soul -- _I cannot imagine ever loving another._

She’d been so distraught when he’d died.

 _I love him_ , she’d insisted. _I don’t understand._

“You loved him,” Mulan says, because for as much as she’s starting to understand, there is still so much that she doesn’t.

And the tears spill fresh onto Aurora’s cheeks, her eyes warm and wet and aching for understanding. She draws in a breath that’s really more of a sniffle, and with a quick glance at their joined hands, Aurora scoots a little closer to her across the ground. “I loved him,” she affirms, and the resignation is back in her voice, resignation and exhaustion and still, always, hope. “I still do. I probably always will.”

Mulan shakes her head, more bewildered than before. “Then how is your fault that --”

“I loved him,” Aurora says again, lacing their fingers together, and Mulan’s heart is _racing_ but she won’t put the pieces together, not yet. The fingers of Aurora’s free hand come up to rest feather-light against Mulan’s cheek, and Mulan forgets how to _breathe_. “But I also loved -- _love_ another,” she corrects. “I broke my promise.”

Aurora’s lips press against hers, and Mulan’s heart has never felt so whole.

* * * * *

The path Regina and Emma take down the mine tunnels is the longest, but Regina knows where she’s going, has been down this path before. She knows where to find Maleficent, knows full well where she’s hiding and holding Henry _hostage_ , and Regina does not run from monsters.

It’s not until they’ve emerged onto the lawn from the tunnels and have started to ascend the stairs in the foyer inside of the mansion that Regina realizes what she’s walking into. This isn’t so much a trap as it is a punishment, a negotiation. Aurora was -- _is_ personal for Maleficent. But Robin and Henry -- they’re personal for Regina, and she remembers the promise Maleficent had made the last time Regina set foot within these walls.

_I shall destroy your happiness if it is the last thing I do._

Maleficent is attempting to take pieces of her, a slow burn, but Regina isn’t going to go down without a fight. Maleficent has to know that, has to understand it, and Regina doesn’t understand what Maleficent hopes to gain by taking her down. Revenge isn’t a beginning -- it’s an end, and even if Maleficent refuses to see that, Regina has very little left to lose. Roland is safe, and so is Snow. Regina’s not sure what else she has to offer, unless --

Unless.

She’d left her heart behind with Belle.

All that’s left is --

The dagger.

And all at once, the pieces start to click into place -- Phillip’s sudden death, Maleficent’s resurrection, the blatant attempt to put Regina out of commission.

_That son of a bitch._

Regina slows to a halt as they approach a fork in their path, but it’s Emma who speaks up. "Okay," Emma sighs, taking a quick glance down each new hallway. "Which way, do you think?"

Slowly, Regina looks over at Emma, and it’s only now that Regina realizes that Emma is the piece that cannot afford to be lost. Regina takes a breath to steady herself, because she _knows_ what she has to do, now, but she can't bring herself to lie to Emma. "Maybe... we should split up," Regina suggests.

" _No_ ," Emma vetoes vehemently.

Regina's breath catches in her chest at that, because she'd expected Emma to put up a fight, but there's enough care in Emma's voice that makes this a thousand times harder than it already is, and Regina can't deal with that right now. "We don't know how much time we have," Regina insists. "One of us needs to get to Henry."

"Regina," Emma says, with all of the patience in the world and god, she is really not making this easy. "You and I both know that we're better when we work together. We're not splitting up."

Regina breathes out harshly through her nose and looks forward.

She has no other choice.

Her hands move quickly and the earth _shakes_ around them, causing Emma to stumble back down the stairs a few feet. Regina takes advantage of the distance between them and turns on the spot, magic erupting from her hands in an effort to keep Emma at bay. It takes a moment for Emma to regain her footing, but when she makes to walk back up the stairs toward Regina, she doesn't make it more than a foot before she meets the seal Regina's erected between them. Emma's clearly caught off guard by it, hands reaching out to touch the invisible wall experimentally, and it doesn't take long for recognition to dawn on her face. "Regina," Emma says, and it sounds muted, with the wall between them, but Regina can tell that Emma's clearly fighting to keep her voice even. "Take down the wall."

Regina lowers her hands and fights to keep her breathing even. "I'm sorry, Emma," she says. "I can't."

She can see the way Emma's jaw works a little in frustration, can see the mask of patience slipping. "Regina, listen to me. I know you've stepped up to protect everyone. I know you're used to working alone. Believe me, I am, too. But --"

"You don't understand," Regina breathes. "This isn't your fight."

" _Our son_ is up there --"

"And it's me she wants," Regina explains. "This isn't our price to pay -- it's mine," she says, and it's not lost on Regina at all that this isn't the first time she's said those words to Emma. "It's me she wants to see suffer."

All of Emma's patience is _gone_ after that -- Regina can hear it in the way her voice cracks and breaks. "And what am I supposed to tell Henry?" Emma asks, livid.

"That I love him," Regina says, her own voice wavering as she fights against tears. She hesitates for half of a moment before taking a step toward the barrier and lifting a shaking hand to touch it. "Henry needs a mother," she says thickly, the words almost catching in her throat because there's so much about this that is _wrong_. Regina _is_ his mother, they both are, and Regina would give anything to be here for him.

She has to give her life, instead.

Emma's hand comes up to meet Regina's on the other side of the barrier; their fingertips meet, but their skin does not touch. " _Regina_ \--"

" _I'm sorry_ ," Regina gasps again. She drops her hand, takes a step back. _I'm sorry_ again, a whisper this time, another step back. _I'm sorry_ one last time, quiet and barely there as the tears threaten to spill over, and Regina turns away from Emma's gaze.

Emma screams her name, the muted sound echoing and reverberating down the path they'd traveled together, again and again until Regina’s chest feels tight.

Regina takes a step forward and chooses which path to take.

* * * * *

The higher the climb, the harder the fall, and the path Regina has chosen leads her toward the sky.

At the end of the last hallway is a spiral staircase that Regina can only presume leads to some sort of attic space. It’s oddly tower-like in its construction; the walls are brick and stone and dust, here, adorned with more candles. And still it’s so, so cold, cold and dark and Regina is grateful that she’d left her heart behind because this -- this is a familiar feeling to her, fatal fatigue festering. She has to pause halfway up and press her hands against cold stone and close her eyes, overwhelmed at the memory of walking to her almost-execution decades before.

Summer has made her senseless, but Regina knows her death won’t be.

When she finally reaches the top of the staircase and pushes open the door before her, Maleficent is alone, and it is with all the caution in the world that Regina crosses the threshold into the room.

Maleficent smiles. “I’m surprised it took you so long,” she muses. “I wasn’t counting on you getting bogged down with all of those...distractions. You’re normally much more focused.”

Regina swallows and takes a few steps forward, attempting to subtly survey the room for signs of Henry. “Thirty years,” Regina reminds her. “And weren’t you the one who said this wasn’t just about me?”

“That’s true, at least in the grand scheme of things,” Maleficent allows. “But right now, it’s just you and me, darling.”

A breath to steady herself and Regina sets her jaw before looking Maleficent dead in the eyes. “Where’s Henry?”

“Oh come now,” Maleficent laughs, leaning against the opposite wall. “Surely you don’t think I’m going to make this that easy for you? The goal was to make you suffer.”

“I have suffered _plenty_ ,” Regina snaps, clenching her fists. “I’m only going to ask you one more time. Where. Is. My. Son?”

Maleficent _tsk_ s in disapproval, but the games, it seems, are at an end. Maleficent must want this over with as much as Regina does, though she can hardly fathom why. It’s with all of the deliberate movement in the world that Maleficent pushes herself off of the wall and pulls at her cloak in a dramatic sweeping motion to reveal what’s underneath it on the floor.

Henry.

Henry, her baby who is on the floor and bound and gagged and unconscious, and so instinctual is Regina’s need to care for him that she doesn’t spare a second thought before moving toward him. But Maleficent freezes Regina in her tracks almost instantly, and no matter how hard Regina tries to break free of the invisible magical restraint, she cannot move.

Love is weakness, and Regina absolutely does not care.

“Just… there, is fine,” Maleficent says, sounding a little wary even though Regina can’t move. “He’s quite precocious, your boy, you know that?”

“What have you done to him?” Regina grits out, refusing to take her eyes off of him.

“Nothing,” Maleficent says, sounding amused.

 _That_ gets Regina’s gaze to stray back to Maleficent briefly. “You call this _nothing_?”

“Well, I couldn’t have him running off, now, could I?” Maleficent reasons. “Other than that, he’s not harmed. I’m not _stupid_ , Regina.”

“Clearly, we have different definitions of stupidity,” Regina murmurs, focusing her attention on Henry again.

Maleficent lets out a noise of derision before turning her attention to Henry as well, prodding him slightly with her foot. “Come now, child, I think you’ve slept enough.” It takes a little more prodding to get Henry to come to, and Regina lets out a breath of relief when his eyes start to flutter open. His expression shifts from lethargy to panic almost instantly as soon as he meets Regina’s eyes, and everything inside of her twists and aches and _begs_ her to try to move to help him. She doesn’t even have the chance to try, though, before Maleficent’s leaning down and hooking her fingers under Henry’s chin to get her to look at him. “You are either very brave or very stupid,” Maleficent says to him, and Regina _knows_ that look in her eyes, like she’s got a new toy to play with.

“ _Enough_ ,” Regina snaps sharply, forcing Maleficent to grin over in her direction. “What do you _want_?”

Slowly, Maleficent rises to her full height again, her eyes careful and calculating and curious as she moves away from Henry toward the center of the room. It’s then that Regina notices the large sheet draped over an odd looking object, and Maleficent’s fingers reach toward it in an itching, delicate dance. She hesitates for a moment, sheet between her fingers, before she tugs the sheet away to reveal what’s underneath.

A spinning wheel.

 _Of course_.

This isn’t Regina’s end -- that would be too easy. This is _getting her out of the way_ , which is probably what he -- what _Rumplestiltskin_ wanted. Because he wants his fucking dagger back. Because _bonds can’t be broken -- especially those born out of magic_. A sleeping curse puts Regina out of commission, but it doesn’t kill her. It doesn’t destroy the magic that has festered inside of her since birth.

It doesn’t break the bonds that bind her to him, and Regina is _tired_ of being someone else’s puppet.

She would so much like to be herself before she is anyone else’s, but that’s never going to happen, not now.

If she has to belong to someone else, Regina will at least make sure it’s her choice.

The look on Maleficent’s face is plain -- _your move_.

She closes her eyes and swallows hard. She doesn’t even have to _think_ about it because she knows what her choice is going to be. She’s sure Maleficent knows that too, has been banking on Regina’s love for Henry in ensuring that her plan goes off without a hitch. And Regina’s choice isn’t even an actual choice, not really, because even if Maleficent didn’t cut her off at the knees and back her into a corner, this is still where Regina would be. Because this -- this is _easy_. It always has been. Her child comes _first_ \-- last, always -- and Regina has long since learned what it means, what it entails. Her child is _everything_ to her, still -- then, now, always -- and Regina would do anything for him. She was prepared to give her life for him, mere moments ago, because summer has made her senseless and love has made her blind.

But Regina’s fate is not what she had planned for -- it never has been.

And all at once, she realizes what Maleficent had meant when she’d said she was going to make Regina suffer. This isn’t just about a slow burn, about chipping away at Regina’s pieces, about lost love.

This is about the destruction of hope.

And it’s _working_.

Maleficent has the upper hand, and Regina hates that she’s only just now realizing it. If Maleficent had known about Robin, there’s no telling what else she might know, and Regina wouldn’t be surprised if Maleficent knew how strong the light magic is between her and Henry. So it doesn’t matter that Regina doesn’t have her heart, and it doesn’t matter if she’s capable of True Love’s Kiss without it. Regina is going to make this sacrifice for Henry. Maleficent knows that, which means she’s not going to let Henry anywhere _near_ Regina once she’s fallen victim to the curse.

And Robin -- well, Robin is at Maleficent’s mercy, and even though Regina can’t be entirely sure that his kiss would wake her (her whole soul _screams_ at her in protest), Maleficent isn’t actually stupid enough to take the risk.

Page twenty-three weighs down her pocket, and Regina’s hope burns into ash and death.

Regina is a mother _first_.

“Done,” she says, firm and final and still her voice shakes. Henry makes a muffled noise of protest from behind his gag, prompting Regina to open her eyes and try to reassure him in silence.

“You’ve made it so easy,” Maleficent comments, sounding almost disappointed.

“I have one condition,” Regina adds quickly, refusing to look away from her son.

A laugh bursts out of Maleficent, almost unexpectedly. “I don’t think you’re exactly in any position to _negotiate_ , darling.”

“One condition,” Regina says again, ice cold and her heart is not in her chest and she is falling, breaking, breaking, breaking. “Send Henry to Emma first. He has to be safe.” She averts her gaze to Maleficent, just for a moment, to make herself absolutely clear. “I’m not taking that curse if he’s not safe and unharmed.”

Maleficent sighs in apparent exasperation as she crosses the room, careful to keep herself between them. “You heroes are always so predictable,” she says, and she sounds almost _bored_. “Always the same weakness. Always the same sacrifice.” She pauses, mid-walk, to level a fire-lit stare Regina’s way. “Love will not save you now, Regina.”

Regina only has eyes for Henry, whose ache is apparent behind his eyes, and Regina knows what he’s thinking even though he can’t speak.

_Once upon a time, you were a villain. But now, you’re a hero._

Love will not save her now, but it will -- then, now, always -- save him.

“I suppose it’s an easy enough condition to meet,” Maleficent says, recapturing her attention. “Although, let me be very clear about this, darling -- I’m not doing it because you asked.”

The silence is heavy between them until the realization dawns on Regina. “Rumplestiltskin,” she breathes, because _of course_ he orchestrated the whole affair, and of course he would do what he could to ensure that Henry was properly treated. Because blood has always been thicker than water to Rumple, and _he was going to take Henry away from her_ in the spring and leave the rest of them to rot and she _hates him_ , hates him, hates him.

She doesn’t hate him enough.

And right now, nothing is more important than Henry.

“Very good!” Maleficent laughs, turning on the spot to face Henry. “Until next time, then, my dear boy,” she says, and with a cloud of smoke and panicked, pleading eyes, Henry is _gone_.

Regina doesn’t even get the chance to say goodbye.

She exhales sharply and it takes everything in her not to cry. “Show him to me,” she says thickly. “Conjure a mirror. Show me where you’ve sent him.”

Maleficent glances at Regina over her shoulder, and there’s something almost seductive in her smile. “With pleasure,” she hums, and to Regina’s surprise, she produces a looking glass for viewing.

Henry is with Emma, but he’s on the wrong side of the wall Regina conjured.

_Fuck._

“Oh, my bad,” Maleficent says, voice dripping with false sincerity. “You meant the other side of that wall, didn’t you?”

“You know I did,” Regina says, voice shaking.

Maleficent _hmms_ and causes the mirror to vanish, striding very deliberately in Regina’s direction. “I’m afraid I’m all out of charity for today, darling. As far as I’m concerned, I’ve held up my end of our little… negotiation.” And then the last of the space between them is gone in an instant, Maleficent’s hand coming to close around Regina’s throat. “I believe it’s your turn.”

And then her hand is gone, the freezing spell with it, and Regina nearly topples over from loss of balance.

The spinning wheel calls to her.

Eyes closed, one breath in. Henry is safe.

Eyes open, one breath out. The town has someone to lead and protect it.

One breath in, one step forward. Henry has a mother to look after him.

Another step forward, one breath out. Robin will move on.

A half-breath in, a faltering step forward. _No one will miss her._

Maleficent’s breath on the back of her neck, the tainted spindle before her. _Villains don’t get happy endings._

Regina reaches out a steady hand, closes her eyes, and sees an apple red as blood.

* * * * *

In Robin's cell, there is a mirror.

He beats his hands senselessly against the glass but it will not break, and his voice is hoarse from screaming.

Through the looking glass, Regina's finger makes contact with the spindle of the spinning wheel, and Robin falls to his knees, his chest _aching_.

Something in his soul _breaks_.

* * * * *

Henry falls _hard_.

He somehow manages to not hit his head against the ground, though, which is pretty lucky considering he’s still bound and gagged. He can’t really sit up like this and he can still _barely_ see with how dark it is in the mansion, but he knows he’s in a different room, now, away from Maleficent.

He knows he’s not with Regina.

Panic flares in him again at the thought of what she’d agreed to do for him, and he struggles against his restraints, desperate. She can’t do this, not like this, not now, not ever, not for --

For him.

His heart aches with belief, and Henry knows the only thing that he has to in that moment -- that he _loves_ her.

“Henry?”

And it’s Mom, _Mom_ \-- _Emma_ Mom and she’s hovering over him, looking just as panicked as he feels. But she’s -- there’s something not right because everything is blurry and tilted and _dark_ and she’s not untying him, _why isn’t she untying him_? He makes a muffled sound from behind his gag to prompt her into action, but she still doesn’t make a move toward him. “Henry, you’re --” Emma stops, breathes, starts again, and her voice sounds too far away, like she’s underwater. Henry struggles against his restraints again, hoping she gets the message. “I can’t,” she says, and it almost sounds like she’s screaming. “I can’t -- there’s a wall, Regina --”

Henry closes his eyes.

Mom protected Mom.

Mom protected everyone else but herself.

“Henry,” Emma says again, and it’s desperate, pleading. “Henry, look at me.” And he can’t say no to her, not to Emma, not to Mom who needs him, needs to look him in the eye and know he’s here and safe and still with her. Mom, up in the attic, feet away from a spinning wheel and a sleeping curse with apology in her eyes and love in her lungs and _no, no, no_. “Henry,” she says again, and he finally opens his eyes to look at her, the memory of Regina still too fresh in his mind. “I’m going to get you out of here,” Emma promises. “I’m going to get you out of those restraints, but you’ve gotta -- I just need a little time to figure out how to take the wall down.” Henry nods and forces himself to keep his eyes open while Emma reexamines the invisible wall between them. And he finds himself suddenly _really_ glad that he can’t speak right now, because it means he can’t say what he’s thinking out loud.

They don’t _have_ time.

It must show on his face, though, because Emma kneels down in front of him on her side of the wall, fingertips brushing against the barrier. “ _Henry_ \--”

And then her fingers are in his hair and against his skin, and it takes them both a moment to register that the barrier is _gone_.

She’s quick to help him sit up, already working furiously to undo the bonds tying his hands together behind his back. She saves the gag for last, and he can’t gasp out her name fast enough. “ _Mom_.”

“I know,” she gasps, tugging him into her arms and hugging him tight.

“ _No_ ,” he protests, but he doesn’t pull away. “Mom -- Regina. She’s upstairs, she’s --”

“I know,” Emma says again, pulling back just enough to get a good look at him. “Regina’s tough, okay? She can handle Malef --”

“ _No_ ,” he says again, and he’s crying and Emma’s hands are on his face and _this is all his fault_. “She’s -- they’re not going to fight.”

Emma’s expression makes it clear that she understands what he means. “Henry,” she says slowly, “what did Regina do?”

Henry’s heart is in his _throat_ , and he has to swallow it down to speak. “She took a sleeping curse.”

Emma closes her eyes and exhales sharply, relaxing her hold on him. Henry glances down at her hands on his arm before taking in their surroundings. They’re in the foyer, he thinks, curled up together on the stairs. They can’t be far from where he just was, mere hallways and staircases away from Regina -- from _Mom_.

And then Henry remembers -- even with her heart lost, Regina had been been able to remember, to break the forgetting spell that had plagued them all when they’d come back from the Enchanted Forest. Regina and Emma both had broken curses with a kiss, because they’d loved him -- then, now, always. Because they had faith.

Henry’s heart beats fast in his chest, and he _believes_.

Quickly, he pulls away from Emma’s hold, struggling to push himself to his feet. “Hey -- _hey_!” Emma shouts, grabbing at his arm and keeping him on the floor with her. “Where do you think you’re going?”

“ _I have to go back_ ,” he insists, trying to pull away from her again. “Regina -- I can wake her, you _know_ I can.”

“Whoa, hey, hey,” Emma says, and her hands are much more firm and keep him with her. “Stop -- _stop_. Henry, listen to me, okay? I can’t -- you’ve got to let me take you back to town. You need to be somewhere safe. Let me take you back to Regina’s. You’ll be under the --”

“ _No_!” he snaps, pulling out of her grasp. “I’m not just going to leave her up there when I can _help_! I’m not just going to _run away_ , I’m not scared --”

“ _Henry_ ,” Emma says, her touch much more gentle as she reaches for him, and she’s crying now, too. “Henry, this isn’t about how brave you are, okay? I know you can help her -- I _know_ you can. But Regina -- she did this for a reason, kid. She did it to keep you safe. That’s what we do -- that’s what moms do, okay, they keep their kids safe. And you have to -- you have to let me do that.”

Henry swallows and shakes and stays. “She made Maleficent send me here,” he confesses, “to you.”

“See?” Emma says. “Regina knows what she’s doing. She trusts me. I need you to do the same right now. Henry, I promise -- I _promise you_ that we will come back for her, okay? We’re not going to leave her here. But right now, she’s not going anywhere. Right now, I need to get you somewhere safe, and then I’ll find a way to deal with Maleficent. And when this is all over, I’ll come back and get you and you can wake her up.”

The words Henry wants to make her say -- _I swear_ \-- die on his lips as the mansion shakes and rattles around them.

Outside, a dragon roars.

“Come on,” Mom prompts, pulling Henry to his feet. “I know another way out of here.”

* * * * *

Robin’s sullen reflection stares back at him from the godforsaken mirror.

He has never felt so helpless before in his _life_ , and he hates it, hates it, hates it.

His son is at the mercy of that _beast_ of a woman and Robin is never getting out of here and Regina has fallen, fallen, fallen.

He closes his eyes to the pain, trying desperately not to think about the image he’d been shown in the mirror.

Shattered Sight starts to creep in around his edges again.

“Robin!”

Startled, he glances up from his position on the ground, blinking in disbelief when he sees both Mulan and Aurora running toward his cell. “How in the _world_ \--”

“Long story,” Mulan says breathlessly, slowing as she approaches the bars caging him in. “We’re here to get you out of here.”

“You can’t,” Robin says, pushing himself to his feet and moving across the cell to meet them. “I’ve tried everything. Maleficent -- _Maleficent_ ,” he breathes, hands curling around the bars. “She has my son, I --”

“She doesn’t,” Mulan interjects, fingers brushing gently against Robin’s. “Roland -- he’s with Marian at Regina’s house. I’ve seen them myself. They’re fine, Robin. They’re _safe_.”

Robin closes his eyes and exhales in relief. His son is not lost to him, not yet, and with each passing breath, Robin starts to feel more like himself again. He is more than his youth and his mistakes, more than what he was born as and what others have painted him to be.

He is a father _first_ and a lover second, and a leader last of all.

And the image of Regina comes back to him, then, strong and sure and sacrificing for her own son, and Robin remembers watching her falling, falling, falling.

“Regina,” he chokes out, her name _burning_ in his throat.

“She went with Emma to find Maleficent,” Mulan explains. “Henry’s --”

“I know,” Robin says thickly.

Silence for a moment, and then Aurora asks, “How do you know?”

Robin’s fingers curl more tightly around the bars in aggravated anger, and he cannot help but work his jaw as he glances over his shoulder in the direction of that damned mirror. “She made me watch.”

“Made you watch?” Mulan echoes, sounding puzzled.

Robin swallows around his pain and looks away from the mirror, unable to meet their gazes. “I saw -- Regina found Maleficent. She was alone. Emma wasn’t with her.”

“So Maleficent made you watch what, exac -- _no_ ,” Aurora gasps, and Mulan’s fingers slip from Robin’s hand to reach for Aurora. “No,” Aurora says again, voice a shaking whisper, and Robin cannot bring himself to look at her. “A sleeping curse?”

“For Henry,” Robin says dully, and it’s Aurora who reaches for his hand this time. Her touch is unexpected but not unwelcome, and the very _second_ Robin meets her eyes, he realizes that she understands.

Maleficent had used all of their sons against them.

But Aurora is free.

“How?” he asks again, something familiar flickering in his veins. “How did you manage to escape? Where _were_ you?”

“Not far from here,” Aurora explains. “My cell was a lot like this. I didn’t -- I didn’t think I was ever going to get out of there, but Mulan --”

“Do you think --” Mulan interjects, clearly only half paying attention to the conversation.

“Mulan what?” Robin asks, trying to pull an answer from Aurora.

Aurora ignores him and mirrors Mulan’s study of the cell bars. “What,” Aurora says slowly, “you think his cell his like mine? You think she used the same enchantment?”

“What enchantment?” Robin asks in earnest, looking between them in frustration.

“There’s really only one way to find out,” Mulan murmurs, glancing down at her hand, and Robin notices the makeshift bandage wrapped around what looks like a very recent injury.

“And how do you propose we do that?” Aurora asks incredulously. “Regina isn’t even here. She’s under a _sleeping curse_ \--”

“A sleeping curse that _I can wake her from_ if you just help me figure out how to get out of here!” Robin says, loud and emphatic and desperate for answers.

Together, Mulan and Aurora turn to look at him, but it’s Aurora who speaks first. “You love her.”

“ _Yes_ ,” Robin whispers, and his soul is in pieces.

“You think you can wake her,” Mulan says.

“I believe,” he says, and he means it with every broken piece that he has even though his voice shakes as he says it. “I have to believe that. Otherwise --”

“Otherwise you’re not going to get yourself out of here,” Mulan says with _absolute_ conviction, and there is love in Aurora’s eyes as she reaches for Mulan’s hand.

_Oh._

“Robin,” Mulan says, voice quiet and even, “do you trust me?”

“Yes,” he answers immediately, though he can’t conceal the confusion in his voice.

A breath, and then Mulan’s gaze drifts beyond him. “Smash the mirror.”

Robin’s brow furrows as he follows her gaze to the enchanted looking glass behind him. “I don’t -- I’ve _tried_ ,” he explains. “I tried so I didn’t have to watch, but I think the glass is enchanted because it won’t break --”

“That’s because you were doing it for the wrong reasons,” Mulan says. “The glass probably bears the same enchantment as the bars of the cell.”

“Which is _what_?” he sighs, more than a tad exasperated.

“True love,” Aurora says quietly, not quite meeting his eyes. “An act of true love will lift the enchantment.”

Robin’s hands slacken around the bars. “And Regina’s not here.”

“No,” Mulan says gently, “but _you are_.”

Robin looks between them again, to where their hands are joined and Mulan’s hand is bandaged. Aurora won’t meet his eyes and Mulan had said that he had to _believe_ in order to get himself out of here.

Daniel had been killed because of the love he bore for Regina.

Robin can use his to save them both.

Love is not weakness -- it is _strength_.

Robin straightens up a little and releases his grip on the bars of his cell before turning to face the damned mirror again. “Smash the mirror,” he repeats. “How do you propose I do that?”

“Close your eyes,” Mulan instructs, and Robin obeys. “Think of her,” she says, and all at once, they are back in the Enchanted Forest, in the Dark One’s castle with Neal and a snow globe. “And more importantly,” she continues, but Robin does not need her to finish.

“How I feel about her,” Robin completes around a breath. And he _loves_ Regina, that much is plain to him, but it is so much _more_ than that. Fate has had other plans for them for so long, paths paralleled and not quite crossing, a series of near misses. They are pixie dust and the lion tattoo and page twenty-three, and they are _choice_. And Robin loves her for all of the things she is, all of the things she has come from, all of the things she can be. He loves her for her magic and for the mirror of love for a child he sees in them both, loves her for her bite and her beauty and her bravery. He loves her for the mistakes she continues to make, and he loves that there is something _right_ in each one.

Robin _loves_ Regina, and he feels it with his whole soul.

His hand breaks glass.

He muffles his screams and swears and bites his lip as he clutches his injured hand to his chest in agony. He nearly doubles over with the pain, eyes squeezed shut, but he takes a few moments to collect himself and remember how to breathe through it. The sharp sting gives way to a dull throb, and Mulan’s voice reaches his ears. “Robin,” she says for what is clearly not the first time. “Robin, can you hear me?”

“Yes,” he grits out, stumbling around in a circle to face them again. “‘m bleeding.”

“That’s good,” Mulan says, _laughing_ , and he cannot imagine where she finds humor in his pain. “You’re going to need that blood.”

“For what?” he mutters, dragging his feet toward the cell bars again.

“For payment,” Mulan explains. Robin finally manages to look her in the eyes again, but she only has eyes for Aurora. “Love is sacrifice.”

_Love is strength._

Robin eyes the bars of his cell with the utmost apprehension, but it could not be clearer what he’s meant to do. And he _has_ to get out of here -- for his son and his love and his men, yes, but more than anything, he has to do this for himself. He is not the man he used to be -- young and reckless and impulsive and stupidly selfish. He will never be that man again.

Robin is in pieces, and his love bleeds into the ground.

Love is selfless.

As quickly as he can, he sets his jaw and steels his stomach for more pain before gripping one of the bars as tightly as he can with his injured and bleeding hand.

Love _burns_ , and Robin is _free_.

* * * * *

Regina opens her eyes to see her own face staring back at her.

Disoriented, she tries to push herself into a sitting position but only manages to get about halfway. She blinks blearily at her surroundings, taking in the vast hall of mirrors, the circle of looking glass around her. The hall is dimly lit and eerily quiet save for the sound of soft clanking, and it takes her a moment to realize that it's coming from the chains and manacles that have her shackled to the ground.

She cannot move.

She cannot _leave_.

She's not going to wake up.

This is her eternal middle.

There is fire beneath her, she _knows_ this because she remembers Henry's suffering, remembers the burns on his arms. The floor is warm and made of glass that will not break, and Regina feels like she’s suffocating.

In the quiet, she is alone, and her heart does not beat.

* * * * *

Robin follows Mulan’s lead.

He has never had reason not to trust her. She had kept his son safe from the shadow back in the Enchanted Forest, had been as capable as any of the rest of his men before she’d left on her quest. Even now, she has helped Robin help get himself out of that godforsaken underground dungeon. Mulan has _always_ done what Robin has spent his life trying to do -- help others -- and this time, she has salvaged both life and love.

Robin is still having a little trouble wrapping his head around it -- the idea of Mulan’s love for Aurora being the same as the love he bears for Regina – but he also finds it surprisingly easy to understand, for the most part. He remembers how far he would have gone to be with Marian again after she had – well, after he _thought_ she had died. He remembers telling Regina that he would have walked through hell to be with Marian again. Mulan has braved perils and crossed realms and spilled blood for Aurora, and she’s giving Robin the chance to do the same for Regina.

Their hands are broken open and bandaged over, and with her love’s hands in hers, Mulan leads Robin to his own.

So he follows.

The path they’re traveling along the tunnels starts to slope uphill just as Mulan’s flashlight starts to flicker and fade, and Mulan’s smile is triumphant and obvious even in the growing dark. “We must be getting close to the mansion.”

“You’re sure?” Robin asks, hands brushing against dirt and stone for purchase and presence. He nearly runs into Aurora when she stops walking, deterred by Mulan’s abrupt stop.

Mulan whirls around to face him, and what he can make out of her expression is both fond and frustrated. “Robin,” she sighs, clearly exhausted and exasperated, “you trust me, don’t you?”

“Of course I do,” he says.

“Then take your own advice,” she laughs, “and have a little faith.”

It’s the first time in _hours_ that Robin even feels remotely like laughing, but the sound gets caught in his throat and escapes as a stifled sob, instead.

Aurora wraps her arms around his neck and pulls him close. “It’s okay to be afraid,” she murmurs into his ear. “But the minute you stop believing that hope won’t work is the minute that it won’t.”

“You didn’t think you were ever going to get out of there,” he mutters back.

“But I knew I had done the right thing,” Aurora says, pulling back to look him in the eye. “I knew my son was safe. I knew Mulan was safe. And as long as I had that, I still believed in _something_. You can do this, Robin. Your belief has gotten you this far.” And in that moment, there is so much about Aurora that reminds him of Regina -- her sacrifice and determination, her complete and utter _resilience_.

He thinks he understands Mulan’s love a little better, now.

“As capable as Regina is, she can’t wake herself, Robin,” Aurora says, clearly trying to lift his spirits. And where Mulan had faltered, Aurora succeeds -- Robin laughs around his sob.

They press on.

At the top of the incline, there is a trap door.

Mulan casts an amused smile over her shoulder at the both of them before pushing the door up and open.

The startled yelp that greets them nearly sends them all toppling back down the slope.

“ _Mulan_?”

“Emma!” Mulan greets by way of reply. “Here, help me up --”

It’s an awkward tangle of hands arms and bodies through the trap door up into the basement of the mansion, and it’s not until they’re all situated in the dark, damp cellar that Robin realizes that Henry is with Emma. He’s unusually quiet, all things considered, still and silent and unmoving at Emma’s side as their parties combine. And Robin -- well, Robin doesn’t know Henry as well as he’d like, but he recognizes the vacant expression on the boy’s face, feels familiarity in the way Henry won’t meet anyone’s eyes. Robin knows that look -- empty and hollow and aching -- and he knows what weighs it down.

Loss.

Robin takes a breath to steady himself and forces himself to look away, determined to press on in spite of the fact that it’s the middle of the night and he’s fairly certain none of them have slept. “What now?”

“We go back the way you came,” Emma says, gesturing at the trap door. “I need to get Henry back to town.”

“That’ll take you twice as long,” Mulan argues. “It’s like a maze down there, Emma. I could barely find my way around. If you try heading back alone --”

“Well it’s not like any of us is going back through the tunnel on the lawn,” Emma counters, voice pitching a little high. “There’s sort of a dragon in the way.”

Mulan huffs out an exasperated-sounding sigh. “We’re going to have to deal with Maleficent at _some point_ , Emma. It doesn’t make sense for us to --”

“Give me your satchel,” Aurora interrupts, already pulling at the strap slung over Mulan’s shoulder.

Robin pinches the bridge of his nose and squeezes his eyes shut in annoyance as the argument picks up again. He is a leader last but he is a leader nonetheless, and it’s aggravating that he doesn’t have enough information about the situation at hand to sort this out and call the shots. Emma and Mulan are perfectly capable of both giving and taking orders and keeping their wits about them in a crisis, but they’re wasting time by arguing about the best way to go about this -- time that they _don’t_ have. He longs for Regina’s calm, cool, collected composure and the ease with which he finds it to take direction from her.

He’s startled into blinking his eyes open when Aurora drops the satchel, but he’s grateful for an excuse to ignore the conversation at hand for a moment in favor of kneeling down to help her. They’re both quick and deliberate in their movements, hands reaching out for strewn about objects left and right. A flash of silver catches his eye, but he hardly has time to dwell on it before something else claims his attention.

An apple.

His hand is trembling as he reaches for it, his grip too-tight around its edges. Aurora covers his hand with her own, still and steady, and once again, Robin finds understanding in her eyes.

Understanding gives way to panic, her eyes beyond him, now, and her voice is sharp and clear above the bickering of the others. “ _Henry!_ ”

Robin’s head snaps around to look over his shoulder, and his eyes have barely met Henry’s for a half-second before Henry is bounding up the basement stairs at top speed. Robin drops the apple and is the first to his feet, the first to action, Emma delayed behind him. The stairs creak and groan on their way back up into mansion, betraying their age and rot, so Robin takes them two at a time in the hopes that they won’t give way.

Henry’s already at the foot of the foyer staircase by the time Robin emerges from the basement. Robin knows Emma isn’t far behind, is sure the others are following in their wake, but none of it matters. Robin is closest, and he cannot allow this to happen.

Not again.

He pushes past the fatigue in his muscles and ignores his body’s pleas for sleep, picking up the pace as he attempts to bridge the gap between himself and Henry. Robin manages to get about halfway up the stairs before he’s close enough to try and reach out for Henry, fingers clutching and grabbing at the material of Henry’s shirt to try and prevent his progress. It’s enough -- Henry is startled and too late in trying to pull away, feet taking a step back down the stairs in Robin’s direction. Robin takes advantage of the proximity to loop an arm around Henry’s middle and pull him close, effectively putting an end to the attempted escape.

“Let me go!” Henry hisses, struggling against him. “Let me go, I have to get upstairs, she’s all alone, you don’t know what that’s like, you have to let me --”

“Henry!” Emma gasps, coming to a halt at the bottom of the stairs, clearly out of breath.

“Henry,” Robin murmurs, tightening his hold. “Henry, _stop_.”

“ _No_ ,” Henry protests violently, managing to maneuver himself around so he’s facing Robin. “No, you don’t understand. I can’t just go back to town and _sit there_ and _wait_. She took a _sleeping curse_ for me. I’m not going to just leave her in there when I can help her, when I can save her, when I can _wake her up_ \--”

“ _Henry_ ,” Robin whispers, harsh and broken and he is closer to tears than he thought. A breath in and he loosens his hold; a breath out and he will not look away, not now, not when Regina’s child is _safe_. “Henry, so can I. I can wake her.”

Robin can feel some of the fight leave Henry’s body, and he further loosens his hold in response. There is nothing but desperation in Henry’s eyes, now, fighting against the ache of loss that’s weighing him down. “You don’t understand,” Henry says again. “I _know_ that I can wake her. We’ve shared this kind of kiss before. I _love_ her --”

“As do I,” Robin breathes, finally releasing his hold and moving his hands to settle on Henry’s shoulders. “With every breath that I have, Henry, I love your mother. And I know how much you love her. I know how much you want to help her right now. But she made that sacrifice for you. She did it so you could be safe. She did it because _she loves you_ , Henry, because that’s what she does best.” Henry closes his eyes and shakes his head, still very much a protest, but he doesn’t fight, doesn’t run. “Do you trust me?”

Eyes open and Robin can see it in Henry’s eyes, the answer to his question. And for all that Henry is not his son, they are still family -- or at the very least, they could be, and Robin’s role of fatherhood settles onto his skin with ease. “Yeah,” Henry says, and it sounds sure and hesitant and nervous all at once. He is still just a _boy_ , so much like Roland in the eyes and the sweep of his hair and the satisfaction in his smile.

Robin is not a child any more, and his love must be enough to wake the dead.

Robin manages a half-hearted smile of encouragement and moves to anchor a hand on either side of Henry’s face. “Then I need you to do what _you_ do best,” he says. “I need you to believe in me.”

Tears spill onto Henry’s cheeks and Robin’s hands, wet and warm, and he reaches up to wrap a hand around Robin’s wrist. “ _Promise me_ ,” Henry begs, voice thick. “Promise me you’ll find her. Promise me you’ll help her. Promise me you won’t leave her alone again.”

“I promise,” Robin says, and Henry is not falling, but Robin catches him anyway.

The front door clashes open.

All of them turn around at the sound, startled, and Robin only _just_ makes out the back of Aurora’s head as she marches out onto the lawn. “I know you’re out here,” she calls out, voice growing quieter the farther away she gets. “I know you’re waiting for me. I’m _right here_.”

“ _Aurora_ ,” Mulan hisses, making her way toward the door. “What are you --”

“ _Go_!” Aurora snaps, and it’s Emma whose attention is caught. “Emma, take Henry and get to the tunnel now, while you’ve got the chance.” Emma doesn’t argue this time, just turns on the spot and reaches out a hand for Henry to take. And this, Robin thinks, is easy, and he is both father and leader as he prompts and pushes Henry down the stairs toward his other mother. Hands clasped tight between them, they _run_ , past Mulan and out the front door onto the lawn.

Somewhere in the distance, Robin hears the dragon roar.

Mulan lingers in the doorway, still inside. “You have _lost your mind_ ,” she seethes. “You’re going to get yourself _killed_! Neither of us has magic. I only have a sword, Aurora. Confident as I am in my abilities, I really don’t think that I can handle a dragon on my own. I can’t protect you like this, get _back_ here --”

“I’m not asking you to protect me!” Aurora calls back, voice sounding a little closer. “This isn’t your fight, Mulan -- _it’s mine_.”

And then there is nothing but silence for a moment as Mulan stares out the front door and works her jaw in clear aggravation. She inhales sharply before sparing a glance in Robin’s direction. “ _Go_ ,” she instructs, snapping herself, now. “Find Regina. Wake her up. Bring her down here. We’re going to need all the help we can get.”

Robin hesitates, just for a moment, hand gripping the banister. “Are you sure you don’t --”

“You don’t have your bow with you,” Mulan points out, rolling her eyes and shifting her gaze back out onto the lawn. “We’ll stall as long as we can. _Go_.” She takes a beat to roll her shoulders back and unsheathe her sword, shaking her head in apparent amusement. “One of these days,” she sighs, “I’m going to stop chasing this woman.” She disappears out the front door, and Robin smiles.

_Today is not one of those days._

And then the whole mansion starts to _shake_ , and the dragon’s roar floods and echoes within its walls.

They are very nearly out of time.

With hope in his hands and bravery in his bones, Robin turns and continues to climb. His legs and lungs _burn_ from walking and climbing and running but he cannot, will not stop now, not when he's this close, not when he’s made a promise to Henry. There's another loud and incensed roar from outside of the crumbling mansion, and while Robin knows that Mulan is perfectly capable of handling herself, he also knows that Maleficent's wrath is dangerous.

At the top of the staircase, there is a fork in the path, and Robin takes a moment to rest his hand against a wall and pray for Mulan and Aurora.

And Robin does not know where to go from here, but he opens his eyes and follows his heart anyway.

Down another corridor, around a corner, up a spiral staircase, and... he stops.

Because here, in the corner room of the top floor, is Regina -- still and silent and seemingly sleeping.

And all at once, Robin knows that her heart is not in her chest.

His own beats traitorously against his ribcage.

It will have to be enough for the both of them.

He takes a moment to collect himself after he sinks down next to her on the bed, because he needs to be calm for her if she -- _when_ she wakes. He cannot lose hope now, not when he's made it this far. His hand is trembling as he reaches for hers, and he brings her hand to his chest to anchor himself, the unsteady _thump-thump-thump_ of his heartbeat the only sign of life between them.

This, he knows, is love without question or condition. This is love they have fought for and love they have lost, love they have had to live without. This is love in his heart and his mind and every breath in his lungs, love in his godforsaken tattoo. This is love in her smile and love in the magic in her veins, love that sacrifices by putting someone else's needs first. This is love in ink and paint and pages that gave her hope when she had none. This is love because he cannot _bear_ to lose her, and Robin will fight for her even when she will not fight for herself.

This is love, and this is _true_.

With their fingers intertwined, Robin leans in and presses a soft kiss to her lips.

A wave of magic passes through him, and Robin feels _alive_.

Regina gasps as she wakes, jolting as she tries to sit upright a little. Robin runs a thumb along the back of her hand and tries to give her room to breathe, but he cannot contain his smile. It takes a few seconds for her to blink into full awareness, but there is absolutely no mistaking her surprise when her eyes find his. "Robin?" A question, obvious disbelief, and Robin cannot find the words to reassure her. He reaches out his free hand, instead, touch gentle against the skin of her face before his fingers tangle in her hair. " _Robin_ ," she breathes, and she is in his arms and breathing against his skin and _alive_.

Outside, the dragon lets out an anguished scream.

Together, they cling to hope.

* * * * *

Under fire, Aurora clutches a stolen, enchanted apple against her chest, grips her dagger tight, and pierces the heart of a dragon.

In the lake, the body of a dragon _burns_ , and this time, there is no phoenix to rise from the ashes.

On the horizon, the sun begins to dawn.

* * * * *

The mansion is falling to pieces and the earth is shaking and Maleficent sounds like she’s _dying_ , but Regina cannot bring herself to move.

She is awake, and she is loved.

Robin’s lips trace along her brow and jaw with the same sort of urgency they should have about getting out of here alive, and even without her heart, Regina feels the same pull toward him she always has -- toward _home_. “Did you really think,” he murmurs, lips moving to her ear, “that no one would miss you?” She swallows hard at that, pulls away from him and doesn’t quite look him in the eye, can’t bear to answer with the truth. She would do it all again in a heartbeat, all for Henry, and _she wasn’t supposed to wake up_. Robin hooks his fingers under chin, forcing her to meet his gaze, and there is such _pain_ in his eyes that it strikes her in her very soul.

She is awake, now, and their love both heals and hurts.

There is a catastrophic-sounding _boom_ from outside, and the whole mansion shakes hard enough that it catapults her into his arms before they both fall onto the floor. His hands are warm and steady and sure on her, keeping her close, keeping her safe. And oh, he’s _injured_ , when did that happen? Brow furrowed, Regina pulls him up into a sitting position with her, fingers tugging at the makeshift bandage. “Regina --”

“Let me heal you,” she says, tossing the tattered piece of cloth aside. She sucks in a breath at the sight of the wound -- a large slice across the width of his palm, broken open and still bleeding a little. Something twists in her gut, something that tells her that this was probably self-inflicted, but she can’t bring herself to ask him what happened. She’s still having a little trouble believing that she’s awake at all, that he was the one to wake her, and if magic brought him to her, she isn’t sure she wants to know the cost he might have paid. She cares less about the cost she has to pay for this, is quick to heal him, her touch feather-light and gentle against his skin.

His fingers enclose around her hand. “Regina,” he murmurs again. “We need to get out of here.”

The world is falling apart around them.

Robin is -- then, now, always -- her anchor.

Wordlessly, she nods in agreement and lets him pull her to her feet. They struggle to maintain their balance, the floor starting to splinter beneath their feet. He holds tight to her hand and doesn’t let go, dragging her toward the door.

They’re halfway down the spiral staircase when Regina stops cold. “ _Henry_ ,” she breathes, looking at Robin imploringly. “Is he --”

“He’s fine,” Robin assures her, squeezing her hand. “I saw him myself. He’s with Emma. She’s taking him back to town. He’s _safe_ , Regina, I promise.”

Regina closes her eyes and breathes around her love. She is a mother first, last, always, and Henry will always be the one thing she knows she got right, no matter how many mistakes she’s made along the way.

Love is strength and salvation, and Regina’s knees give out from under her.

Robin catches her before she can fall, pulling her against him, and before they even have time to fully right themselves again, the staircase floor is giving way beneath them. Regina’s magic is light and dark and fire and _awake_ before she can even really think about it, instinct transporting them out of the mansion and onto the lawn, just far enough away to be safe from the debris. They land a little harder on the grass than she’s proud of, a tumbling mess of tangled limbs as they roll away from the house and toward the lake.

When they come to settle with the dust, Robin is splayed full on top of her and her jacket is slipping down one of her shoulders. “You all right?” he coughs, using his hands to push himself up off of her a little.

“I’ve been worse,” she groans, propping herself up on her elbows. It’s lighter out here than it was inside, the sun starting to peek up over the horizon.

They’ve survived the night.

Robin reaches out a hand, fingers hooking into the fallen sleeve of her jacket to pull it back up onto her shoulder. His touch is tender, intimate, and weighted with ache, and Regina can’t quite bring herself to look at him again. She presses her lips to his hand, instead, and closes her eyes.

Her baby is safe and she is _home_ , awake and in love and aching without her heart, and this is nothing like what she thought her happy ending would ever be like.

It’s not an eternal middle, either.

Robin’s hand falls from her lips, moving to the pocket of her jacket, and Regina opens her eyes to find him holding page twenty-three between them. She finally deigns to meet his eyes at that, the upward twitch of his lips like a balm against her pain.

Together, they burst out laughing.

They are sprawled out on the lawn of a crumbling mansion and they’re a _mess_ and she doesn’t even have her heart right now and there is so much left unresolved between them and he just woke her up from a sleeping curse and they are _laughing_ over a piece of paper.

If this is hope, it is _madness_.

Robin drops his head against her shoulder as their laughter tapers off, and he tucks page twenty-three back into her pocket in what she knows is an attempt to anchor them both. She tucks her face against his neck and smiles against his skin, feeling oddly young again. It’s the same feeling she’d had in her vault, back in the spring, the morning after their first time together. It’s summer, now, and she is senseless and selfish and selfless all at once.

Maybe he was always meant to be part of her story.

She’s forced to pull away a little when he lifts his head and exhales sharply. “Regina,” he murmurs. She _hmm_ s in response, and when he doesn’t reply, she turns slightly to look at him. The smile is gone from his face, light dimming in his eyes, and his expression is something familiar that she can’t quite place. “ _Look_ ,” he says, and there is something so urgent in his voice that for one wild moment, Regina thinks that they’re under attack. It occurs to her only then that she has no idea where Maleficent is or what form she’s taken, and with panic reinstilled, Regina sits up the rest of the way and whirls around to look behind her.

The lake is on _fire_ , and the broken body of a dragon sinks down, down, down into the water.

Maleficent is dead.

All of the breath leaves Regina at once as she surveys the disaster before them, eyes following the flickering flames to the shore where a heart is broken open and bleeding out, a silver dagger staking it to the ground.

And there, a few feet away, are Aurora and Mulan, quiet and curled up together and unmoving. “Aurora,” Regina remarks, looking back to Robin. “How did she --”

“It’s… a long story,” Robin sighs, offering her a hand to help her to her feet. “I’m sure they could use some help, though. Mulan’s hand is injured, like mine was.” Regina looks from Robin to the women and back again, and she doesn’t need to know how or why they obtained their injuries to understand what it means.

Mulan is in love with Aurora.

And if Regina ever needed any more proof that her mother was wrong, this is it.

Love is not weakness, and it is so much _more_ than strength and sacrifice.

It is resilience in the face of impossibility.

Regina returns Robin’s tired smile with one of her own, and hands joined between them, they make their way across the lawn to where the women rest. Regina is startled into a gasp when she finally gets a good look at them, though, and she’s on her knees again as quickly as she can be, Robin’s hand slipping from hers. Mulan’s hand is definitely injured the same way Robin’s was just moments ago, but Aurora’s are covered in blood and they both have second-degree burns on their arms. “Do I even want to know what happened out here?" Regina asks, moving in front of them.

“The usual,” Mulan mumbles around a yawn, fingers of her uninjured hand carding through Aurora’s hair. “Dragon. Fire. Stabbing hearts. Saving the day.” Mulan’s mouth twitches into a half smile as Regina examines the blood on Aurora’s hands. “Apple was helpful, though. Thanks for that.”

Regina can’t help but let out an incredulous laugh at that, shaking her head and releasing Aurora’s hands once she’s determined that it’s not Aurora’s blood. “You know, I don’t think you will ever cease to amaze me.”

Mulan turns her smile onto Aurora. “Yeah,” she murmurs, “me either.”

Regina spares a half-glance back at the broken and bleeding heart on the ground before looking back at Aurora’s hands.

Aurora was the one to kill Maleficent.

“Those burns look pretty bad,” Robin observes, recapturing Regina’s focus. “You can heal them here, can’t you? At least partially?”

“Yeah,” Regina says thickly, clearing her throat and turning her attention back to Mulan. “Here, let me.” They’re all quiet as she moves her hands over their skin, blood and burns vanishing with the light as the sun rises steadily over the horizon. Mulan, at least, is at least partially present as Regina mends her injuries, voice soft and grateful. Regina forces herself not to think too much about the open wound on Mulan’s hand, tries very hard to ignore how strikingly similar it is to Robin’s. Aurora has pretty clearly checked out, though, and she doesn’t react or respond to any of Regina’s magic or murmurs.

As Regina heals, her magic starts to flicker and fade, the effort already too much for her so soon after her awakening.

And then she remembers the reason that they are all in this mess to begin with -- _Gold_.

There is guilt in Aurora’s eyes and shoulders, and the memory of her lament in the hospital is suddenly vivid again in Regina’s mind.

Aurora still thinks Phillip’s death is her fault.

Regina owes Aurora more than she thinks she can ever really repay, but she can give Aurora this, at least.

She can grant absolution.

“Aurora,” she prompts gently, fingers hooking under Aurora’s chin to force eye contact. The vacancy in Aurora’s eyes starts to fade and recede, still present but not commanding. She looks _impossibly_ young for all that she has her own child, now. And in spite of the fact that none of them are children any more, Regina feels motherhood settle back into her skin and bones and every breath in her lungs. “Phillip’s death wasn’t your fault.”

Guilt gives way to ache, and Aurora tries to pull away. “You really don’t understand.”

“No, I don’t,” Regina agrees, keeping her grip firm and holding Aurora in place. “But I don’t need to. I’m pretty sure Phillip didn’t die from a heart attack. I think Gold -- Rumplestiltskin -- killed him.”

Aurora’s brow knits in clear confusion. “What -- _why_?”

“I don’t know,” Regina admits again, wishing she had a better answer. “There are things I don’t know -- pieces I’m missing. But I don’t think it was a coincidence that Maleficent came back after Phillip died. And I’m positive that it was Rumplestiltskin who brought her back.”

“You think he used Phillip to do it?” Aurora guesses, voice sounding a little more clear.

“The Yaoguai,” Mulan breathes. “It’s -- when I met Phillip, he was this… beast of a creature. Maleficent had imprisoned him in that form -- to keep him away from Aurora, I think. Belle was the one who figured out how to change him back.”

“Transformation magic,” Regina supplies quietly, releasing her hold on Aurora’s face. She glances over her shoulder at the heart on the ground and closes her eyes, soul aching in sympathy.

She’s pretty sure Aurora just destroyed a mutilated version of her dead husband’s heart.

Regina swallows around the pain and tucks away the truth for another time. It’s not necessary now.

“But I don’t understand,” Aurora says, prompting Regina to turn back around and look at her. “Why would he do this? What did Rumplestiltskin have to gain by bringing Maleficent back? Did he know that she would target you?”

Regina draws in a breath to answer, but Robin does it for her. “Of course he did,” Robin supplies, eyes narrowed as he puts the pieces together. “And she didn’t try to kill you, which means he didn’t want you dead, just out of the way.” A sharp exhale and then Robin is meeting Regina’s eyes, and the weight of his frustration and pain and incredulity is all Regina’s to bear. “He wants that damn dagger back.” Regina doesn’t answer. She doesn’t have to. “I swear to god, I --”

“Don’t,” Regina pleads, reaching for him without thinking, a hand on either side of his face. “Don’t finish that sentence. Whatever you were about to say, just… don’t. Please. Just -- I know you’re angry,” she says, because she is angry, too, angry and in love and light and dark. “But this isn’t your fight, Robin. Let me find a way to deal with him.”

Robin’s answering noise is both fond and annoyed all at once. “You’re not going to let me help at all, are you?”

Regina smiles and leans in to rest their foreheads together. “That’s not what this is about,” she promises. “This is magic and instruction and bonds and years of codependence that have nothing to do with you. This is between me and him. He started it. I’m going to finish it.”

Robin’s smile is aching and adoring and affectionate, and the look in his eyes takes her back to spring -- to camp and fear and reassurance and absolute trust, to belief in her ability to choose light over dark. He reaches out to tuck her hair behind her ear, and his breath is a ghost on her lips. “I love you.”

It takes everything in her not to kiss him right then and there.

She is without her heart for a little while longer, but she is also awake, and that is more than enough.

“I know,” she says simply.

“So what now?” Mulan asks.

Regina pulls back a little and squints in the direction of the horizon, following the sun’s rays across the lawn to where they start to flood the tunnel with light. “We go home.”

* * * * *

The elevator doors open up to the library lobby, and they come face to face with Emma.

She looks startled and maybe a little shell-shocked, dark circles under her eyes and hair pulled back into a messy ponytail. Regina’s first instinct at the sight of her is to suck in a breath and steel herself for anger and wrath and a fight -- things Emma is entitled to, given Regina’s little stunt earlier. Regina will not apologize for what she did, but she is _tired_ and she doesn’t want to fight and she is mostly just glad that Emma is here, because it means that Henry is safe at home.

And then Emma's arms are around Regina faster than she can even blink, her grip so tight that Regina's ribs ache. "Do not," Emma breathes into her ear, "do anything that _stupid_ ever again, do you understand me?"

The breath is gone from Regina’s lungs at that, because this -- this is Emma showing that she cares far more than she probably ever dreamed she would and Regina is valued and _did you really think no one would miss you_. Eyes watering, Regina tentatively wraps her arms around Emma in return, trying to ignore the crushing force against her lungs. “I’ve spent most of my life making one stupid decision after another,” she laughs wetly. “Bad habits are pretty hard to break, Emma. I can’t make that promise.”

Emma releases her hold and pulls back, some of the immediate heat and incredulity gone from her eyes. “You’re an _idiot_ ,” she says, and the words are like music to Regina’s ears.

Hope is madness and love is idiocy and light and dark and Regina is -- will always be -- both.

“Probably,” Regina agrees, taking a step back into Robin’s warmth and tucking her hair behind her ear. “But I’m no more of an idiot than the rest of you. And I’m awake now, so.”

_So it doesn’t matter._

Robin’s hand grips tight at Regina’s hip, and she resolutely doesn’t look him in the eye.

“So?” Emma prompts, looking between the four of them, clearly wanting to know what happened out at the lake.

“So Maleficent has been dealt with,” Mulan announces with a sigh, casting an amused smile in Aurora’s direction. “And Aurora is an idiot.”

Aurora rolls her eyes, and it’s the most… normal Regina has seen her act in well over a month. “If it’s good enough for a queen, it’s good enough for a princess,” she argues. “And I’m fairly certain you knew that about me before you even met me.” Robin stifles a laugh into Regina’s hair, the ghost of _you knew I was a thief when you met me_ lingering in the air, page twenty-three weighing down her pocket.

Emma glances between the four of them before shaking her head and throwing her hands up in the air. “I haven’t slept in over twenty-four hours,” she mutters. “I am not equipped to try and figure out your weirdness right now.”

“I think _welcome back_ will probably suffice just fine,” Belle interjects with a chuckle, stepping out from behind the circulation desk into view. Regina’s heart is red and black and beating in Belle’s hands, whole and in pieces and belonging to more than just herself. Regina takes a step forward, loosely clinging to Robin’s hand with her own. “When Emma told me what happened, there was a moment when I thought you might not come back for this,” Belle admits. “And then I remembered _the most resilient_ and, well. I don’t give up hope that easily.”

Robin’s hand tightens in hers, and together, they take another step forward. “Thank you,” Regina says, unable to keep her voice from shaking a little, “for keeping it safe.” Belle answers with a simple smile, and it’s with the utmost care that she places Regina’s heart back in her own hand.

Robin is pressed against her lightning fast, lips against her ear. “Would you like some help with that?” Her heart skips a beat in her hand, and she turns her head slowly to meet his eyes.

The words _I do_ never make it out of her mouth.

“We can give you some privacy,” Belle quips, breaking the moment. Regina clears her throat and looks back at the rest of the women, nodding in acknowledgement. “Robin, did you, um -- I can stop by your camp, let your men know you’re all right, if you like.”

“Oh,” Robin says, clearly faltering a little. “I, um -- I’m not sure if they’re there or if they’ve been moved to the town hall, but yes, that would be appreciated. Thank you.”

“I’ll take Aurora and Mulan to my parents’ place to get the baby,” Emma offers. “I’ll, uh, I’ll meet you back at your house?” she suggests, nodding in Regina’s direction. “Killian’s still there keeping an eye on Henry, making sure he doesn’t try climbing out his bedroom window or anything.”

Regina furrows her brow in confusion before the memory assaults her -- Henry trying to escape, Henry bound by her magic, Henry wanting as much space as possible between them. She finds herself grateful for a moment that her heart isn’t in her chest, yet, the painful pulse against her palm almost too much to handle. But that -- that was then and this is now. Henry is bound by her magic, but he is safe and home, and all at once, Regina knows what it means to have him running away, now.

 _You can give up on yourself, but I'm not going give up on you_.

“He came after me,” Regina murmurs.

There is pain in Emma’s eyes even as her lips curve into a smile. “Yeah, well. We all did.”

Regina is not alone.

She never has to be alone again.

Belle is the first to leave, Emma and Mulan trailing after her, but Aurora lingers behind, shifting her weight from one foot to the other in clear nervous energy. She fidgets with her fingers for a moment before she rests a hand gently on Regina’s arm, eyes soft and warm and full of understanding. “Thank you,” she says quietly, “for what you said back there. I needed to hear that.”

And Regina is eighteen and thirty-eight and Robin’s hand is in hers and she is a mother first, last, always, her mother is dead and gone, gone, gone. She is careful as she presses her heart into Robin’s hands, careful as she intertwines her fingers with Aurora’s and meets her eyes. “I spent most of my life misplacing blame -- on others, on myself. I still do it, sometimes. But accountability is more important than blame, and you deserve better than that. We both do.”

And for the first time in what feels like a very long time, Regina believes it.

She is going to get her life back, and she is going to live it on her terms.

And then Aurora’s hands are gone, leaving dawn and glass and fire in her wake, and Regina remembers that Aurora has been in her shoes once before. The same can be said for Mary Margaret and David and Henry, and with the click of a door and her heart in someone else’s hands, Regina feels power in her veins.

This is _her_ story, and she’s not sure if she’s at the end of a chapter or a volume, but she knows one thing for sure -- this is a beginning.

* * * * *

Robin crosses the threshold of the house first, into safety and warmth and family, and he’s barely made it up the steps into the foyer before Roland is practically flying out of the living room and into his father’s arms. Regina lingers in the doorway to give them a moment, eyes softening at the picture they paint -- Robin’s hand cradling Roland’s head, Roland’s fingers clutching tight to Robin’s shoulders.

Regina loves him, and it is every bit her choice.

Marian isn’t far behind, looking as tired as Regina feels. The smile Regina gives her is genuine and warm, even if it is a little tight around the edges and doesn’t quite meet her eyes. The divorce is nearly final but affection and regard still remains. And Regina -- well, Regina doesn’t think she could ever begrudge them that, not after she’d been the cause of their separation decades ago, not now when they have all barely escaped with their lives. And Marian is still pieces of her -- loving someone long lost, a mother, a woman struggling to find her place in a life she didn’t choose.

Marian is making her own choices, now, and Regina is owning hers.

Regina gives them a moment of privacy so they can move into the living room, busying herself with closing the front door and removing her jacket and shoes. And this time, it’s her who has barely climbed the few steps up into the foyer before she is greeted by her own child.

“ _Mom_.”

Regina looks up to find Henry frozen at the top of the staircase, and the sight of him awake and alive and safe and _free_ is enough to take her breath away. “ _Henry_.”

He is down the stairs and in her arms with surprising speed, nearly knocking her over as they collide and he wraps his arms around her tight. She stumbles back down the few steps into the entrance, struggling to support his weight, but she doesn’t let go. “You are so _stupid_ ,” he mumbles into her shirt.

Regina can’t help the laugh that escapes her. “Your mother said the same thing.”

“Well she’s _right_ ,” he says, nearly snapping at her as he pulls back to look her in the eye. He looks so much like Emma, in that moment, hysteria bubbling just underneath the surface, and Regina has to remind herself to breathe and be patient. She is awake. She is home. It’s _over_. “You didn’t have to do that. You didn’t have to take that curse for me --”

“You didn’t have to take that curse for Emma, either,” she points out, patient and calm and kind. And this, this is easy now, because Regina lives and _breathes_ being a mother, and she can be Henry’s anchor when he floats adrift.

“That was different,” he says, and it’s snapping and imploring and the hysteria is starting to break through his skin and Regina’s heart beats painfully and senselessly in her chest. “You didn’t have to do it. You could have found another way to deal with Maleficent. I took the curse because Emma needed to believe in me. _I already know that you do_. You didn’t need to prove that to me. You didn’t need to prove that you’ve changed or you’re different or you’re a hero or anything else. _I love you_ , okay? I love you and I’m not going anywhere and you -- you _promised_ you weren’t going to let us get separated again, remember? You promised because you love me and I _know_ that. I know who you are and I know who you were and _I love you_ and --”

“Henry, stop, stop,” she breathes, pulling him close again. She anchors a hand on the back of his head and rubs soothingly along his back with the other. His chest is heaving under her touch and she can feel how heavy his breath is against her neck. She can feel it radiating off of him in waves, how angry he is, but she also knows what fuels it, because it’s the same thing that fueled hers for years -- loss, and love. And Regina -- Regina let her anger spiral out of control, let it twist and warp and mutilate her until she couldn’t even recognize herself any more. Regina has long since learned -- is _still_ learning -- how to channel her anger into something more productive, into something better, into something _good_. But she won’t let that happen to Henry, not ever, because he is pure and good and his belief is true. “It was my choice,” she murmurs into his ear.

“I could’ve helped,” he insists, but she can tell that the fight is leaving him, heat starting to fade from his voice. “I could’ve woken you up.”

“Yes,” she laughs thickly, tears springing to her eyes. “Yes, you could’ve.” She sniffs a little and pulls away just enough so she can rest a hand on either side of his face. He is nearly as tall as her, now, especially without the added height of her shoes, but he is still so much a boy and not yet a man -- her child first, last, and always. “Just because you weren’t the one to wake me doesn’t mean you couldn’t have done it. It doesn’t make you any less special,” she insists, anchoring a hand over where his heart resides, the steady _thump-thump-thump_ like a metronome keeping time. “It doesn’t mean you love me any less.”

And everything in his eyes -- the anger and hurt and frustration and indignation -- gives way to the spark she’s used to seeing, beaming beacons bearing belief and love. But it’s muted around the edges, weighed down, and Regina recognizes that, too.

Henry is afraid.

Regina just wants him to be happy.

They hadn’t even gotten the chance to say goodbye.

She pulls him against her again, breathing with every beat, and Henry _shakes_ in her arms. “I’m okay,” she soothes, tightening her hold when Henry starts to cry into her neck. _I’m okay_ and it’s not a promise because it can’t be. She cannot promise to always be okay, and she cannot promise that something like this won’t happen again. But for now, she knows who she is and where her love resides, awake and breathing and believing.

Summer starts to fade, and her heart beats senselessly in her chest.

“I’m okay,” she says, and she is _home_.

* * * * *

Regina stands in front of the door to the pawn shop, her hand hovering on the handle, hesitating. This is all that is left between her and what could be her happy ending, what could make her story her own again. All she has to do is push open the door and follow through with this plan and the whole world will be full of possibilities again.

And yet.

She has hope in one pocket and darkness in the other, and she is both light and dark.

She is learning to love herself this way, and this is her start.

She opens the door, and the bell rings above her.

She’s barely closed the door behind her and turned around before he -- before Gold is making his way out to his front counter. She can sense his apprehension -- she does still have his dagger after all -- but he’s hiding it fairly well. He always has. “Regina,” he greets, all perfect, false friendliness. “Is the silent treatment at an end, then?”

Regina fights against working her jaw in anger. She needs to keep up this ruse as much as he does, for as long as she can, because she needs him to listen to her, needs him to _understand_. “That depends on how this goes.”

Gold rests his hands close together against the counter, body language tight, reserved, composed. He’s keeping to himself and putting as much distance between them as he possibly can, as if that would make a difference. Zelena has left him with invisible scars, and Regina has the power to leave new ones.

Regina is not Zelena -- she is not Zelena or Cora or anyone else but herself. And for all that they have made the same mistakes, Regina is determined to set herself apart.

For good, this time.

“So why _are_ you here?” he asks, sounding slightly irritated.

“Henry,” she says simply, and this, she knows, is the key to prolonging this conversation, to getting Gold to _listen_. Blood has always been thicker than water to him, and he owes her this, at the very least. “He _is_ one of the only things left connecting us.”

“That he is,” Gold says, quiet and contemplative. He’s extraordinarily careful in his study of her, is trying to figure out how much she knows about his involvement with Maleficent. She wonders if he’s actually being this transparent or if she’s just gotten better at reading him, but it doesn’t really matter, in the end. This will all be over soon. “What about him?”

“You know his book,” Regina says. Gold nods in acknowledgement. “It doesn’t paint either of us in a very good light. _Villains don’t get happy endings_ , right?”

“Apparently not,” he grits out, fingers flexing around the edge of the counter.

Regina takes a breath to steady herself and paces the floor of the shop, fingers dancing delicately along the items on display. “For a while, I thought we were written into corners. I thought that the Author -- whoever wrote it -- dictated what our stories looked like, regardless of the choices we made.”

“And you’ve found that not to be the case?” he asks, and he sounds so _puzzled_ by the subject that she actually pauses in her perusing to look at him.

“I have no idea,” she laughs dryly, because Operation Mongoose has taken a back seat since Shattered Sight. Regina has only just now rooted herself, and as important as that book might be, she’s not sure that she still believes in her initial cause. She turns and leans against one of the counters, letting him study her more easily. “But even if he -- or she, or it -- has had a hand in the way my story has unfolded, the Author isn’t the only person who has written me into corners.”

Gold actually _does_ work his jaw at that, which surprises her, but he doesn’t move from his spot behind the counter. “Are you talking about me or your mother?”

“Both of you, actually,” Regina says, as casually as she can. “You both backed me into corners and put me on paths with purpose and manipulated me to get what you wanted.”

“And?”

Another breath and Regina is both dark and light, accountability weighted in her bones. “And then it was all me,” she sighs. “Or at least it was mostly me. I may have been pushed on the path to darkness and I may have been manipulated into staying the course at times, but so many of those choices were mine.”

“And now your choices are different,” he says, almost _spits it_ at her, and he is Rumplestiltskin and Mother and Zelena all at one. “Now you’re a hero.”

“More days than others,” she drawls, smiling, and the Evil Queen threatens to slide onto her shoulders with ease. “It’s what I was before the manipulations of either you or my mother. It’s what I’ve tried to be for Henry.”

“And Henry is why you’re here,” he surmises, posture relaxing a little.

“No,” Regina says, pushing herself away from the counter and taking a step toward him. “I’m here for me.”

Gold takes a half-step back and then halts, clearly regretting the movement once he realizes that she’s noticed. “I’m not really in the mood for a deal, dearie,” he says, but they both know it’s an empty threat. “And I’d wager that you didn’t come to make one.”

“No,” she says, voice faltering a little. She doesn’t take another step forward, keeps a few paces of distance between them. She wants him to feel like they’re on equal ground for at least a little bit longer, at least until she’s finished, at least until he understands. “No, I came to make a choice. Because at the end of the day, that’s what this is about. This is about me making my own choices. And it doesn’t -- it doesn’t matter if they’re good ones or bad ones because they’re _mine_ , and no one else can be held accountable for them but me.”

Something dark blossoms in Gold’s eyes, and he actually _smiles_. “You watched me try to take my happy ending,” he reminds her. “Look how that turned out.”

“I’m well aware of how it turned out,” she grits out. “You tried to take my son from me. You were going to leave me here to die. And then when I helped stop you, you decided to resurrect an old friend of ours to enact _vengeance_.”

Some of the color starts to fade from Gold’s face, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallows what are clearly nerves. “And is that why you’re here, Regina?” he says, and he is _taunting_ her. “Are you here to take your happy ending? Are you here to enact a little vengeance? I didn’t realize that heroes were dealing in that kind of currency nowadays.”

Regina’s shoulders slump a little and she is _exhausted_ , so, so tired of fighting. But this -- this fight, this choice -- is all she has left, and she has come too far to give up now. “No,” she says, and her voice breaks open all the way. She doesn’t hate him enough, and it is costing her time. “I’m here to get my _life_ back.” Another step forward, two more and she is at the other end of the counter, fingers pressing against glass. “I don’t know what my happy ending looks like, but I know that it starts with my life belonging to me again. Not you, not my mother, not anyone else.” A pause, deliberate and prolonged and time, time, time. She reaches into one of her coat pockets and curls her fingers around the object she needs. “And I know that journey starts with you.”

Regina pulls the dagger out of her pocket, and there is nothing but hatred and disappointment in Gold’s eyes at the sight of it.

She thinks the disappointment hurts more because she feels it, too.

She is both light and dark, and she loves herself a little less, in this moment.

Gold takes a measured breath, eyes lingering on the dagger before he flicks his gaze back to her. “And what is it that you want from me, dearie?”

Regina’s knees _shake_ with the thought of what she’s about to ask, of what she’s about to do, but she has made her choice. “Bring me that flask,” she says, nodding at a collection behind him. His eyes narrow in confused suspicion, but he does as she requests, however begrudgingly. He sets the flask on the counter between them, fingers tense and rigid and clearly desperate to move.

She’s fairly sure he wants to _strangle_ her.

It wouldn’t be the first time.

Gold waits for her next instructions. He doesn’t ask what she wants next, doesn’t speak at all. His voice is the only thing he has left to control right now, and Regina would not take it from him -- not when she’s trying to get hers _back_. She adjusts her grip on the handle of the dagger, fighting to keep the tremors out of her hands as she moves them over the flask. She’s quick to prick her finger with the point of the dagger, the sensation too familiar given recent events. A few drops of her blood fall to the bottom of the flask, and Regina pulls her hands away. Her chest feels tight, her lungs burning, when she speaks again. “Your turn.”

Gold looks more apprehensive now than he did before, confusion less apparent now than before but still present. Slowly, he reaches for a nearby needle on the counter, his eyes never leaving hers even as he fulfills her wishes (and he’s Sidney now, too, another mistake and dark, dark, dark). A few drops of his blood fall into the flask and mix with her own, and the blood in Regina’s veins _burns_.

Blood has always been thicker than water to Rumplestiltskin, and it will be his downfall.

“May I ask what the point of this little ritual is?” Gold asks in a clipped tone, setting the needle back down on the counter with a too-loud clatter and looking very much like he wishes he could use it against her.

This time, it’s Regina who doesn’t speak -- she lets the magic do it for her.

In the flask, their mingled blood starts to glow bright gold and spiral up and out. “What is this?” he asks, and he sounds careful, so careful. His eyes follow hers to the empty flask that now sits between them, and together, they watch as the magic manifests into threads and cords, binding together. The magic glows and twists in spirals towards their hands, twisting and twining and reaching for them. “Regina, what have you --” Gold’s voice tapers off as the glowing cords start to wrap around each of their wrists, realization dawning in the features of his face. “ _No_ ,” he whispers, and she knows that he knows, now. “Regina, _please_ \-- _don't_.”

“I’m sorry for this,” she apologizes, dagger shaking in her hand. “I really, really am. But I can’t live like this any more. I can’t constantly be looking over my shoulder, waiting for you to come after me. I can’t live my life under your thumb any more. I can’t live my life under your manipulation and control.”

“ _My_ control?” he says, barking out a loud laugh, and any and all form of pretense is gone between them, now. “Take a good look at what’s happening here, dearie. Of the two of us, I am most definitely not the one in control.”

Regina squeezes her eyes shut and sets her jaw against her anger. He has tried to take her life from her so many times, and yet here he stands, cowering behind glass -- afraid to lose her.

 _No one you will miss_.

She is so ready to be rid of him, but she won't give him the satisfaction of death.

Regina opens her eyes, and for the first time in what feels like a very long time, Rumplestiltskin looks properly _terrified_.

“Regina,” he says, barely keeping his hysteria at bay, “think about what this will cost us. This could damage our magic. This could _destroy it_. Think about this for a minute, _please_ ,” he says, but his pleases have lost their punch. “Think about what you could lose."

Regina feels the Evil Queen creeps into her answering smile, and she is dark, dark, dark -- _light and dark, light and dark, light and dark_. "Nothing I will miss,” she says, and it is an absolute _lie_. Her magic is as much a part of who she is as any other part of her, and if this choice takes it from her completely, she will lose her roots.

Summer burns into fall, and Regina is finally ready to be selfish _and_ good.

She can love herself.

“I’m not your puppet any more,” she says, and with one quick movement, Regina uses the dagger to cut the magical ties that bind them.

The windows of the shop _explode_ around them, shards of glass shattering everywhere, and even as they’re both thrown bodily across the room in opposite directions, she can feel the magic inside of her fall quiet.

For the first time in her life, Regina feels _free_.

* * * * *

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [That's What Little Brothers Are For](https://archiveofourown.org/works/7862209) by [InitialA](https://archiveofourown.org/users/InitialA/pseuds/InitialA)
  * [Who Tells Your Story?](https://archiveofourown.org/works/7864666) by [InitialA](https://archiveofourown.org/users/InitialA/pseuds/InitialA)
  * [Slipping Through My Fingers](https://archiveofourown.org/works/7906318) by [idoltina](https://archiveofourown.org/users/idoltina/pseuds/idoltina)
  * [Making Up (For Lost Time)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/7909576) by [idoltina](https://archiveofourown.org/users/idoltina/pseuds/idoltina)
  * [The Word of Your Body](https://archiveofourown.org/works/7909777) by [idoltina](https://archiveofourown.org/users/idoltina/pseuds/idoltina)




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